Deal With It (BillDip)
by overadventurefalls12
Summary: Ten years in the future. Dipper Pines, age 22, is a CSI agent for Gravity Falls' police department. And Bill, having spent a decade imprisoned in his statue, decides it's time to break out. A different time. A different form. Dipper's on the case to tracking the demented dorito down; that is, if he can figure out what Bill's new body looks like. (Warning: Smut) (Bill x Dipper)
1. Something's Wrong

A dark room illuminated by the soft glow of a candle lit dinner, now pushed out of their minds. A red velvet couch facing away from the draped windows, its tiny gaps allowing for bits of moon light to spill forth and land on either of their bodies. Sweat clad hands worked to unzip her dress, all the while fondling and caressing the slenderness of her design.

A satisfied sigh escaped her, feeling as he slid the straps off her shoulders, moving to plant generous kisses over them. He remained clothed, though his tie had been undone and slid from his neck. The red head turned around to face him, her face flushed and wanting.

"_Dipper_..." She whispered simply, cupping her hand against his cheek, admiring his lush set of lips. Her fingers ran over his jaw line, down his neck, stopping simply to examine the softness of his exposed skin.

A pleased shiver escaped her, feeling as his hands moved to strip away the dress. He worked with patience, unclipping her bra strap and sliding her panties away with such a sense of authority that it sent out a whole new wave of thrill.

Wendy looked at him, unable to wage his expression as the candles began to dim to a weak flicker. Her heart started to race, sliding onto his lap as her lips latched onto his. He was so soft. She ran her fingers through his hair, giving it a small tug as his palms moved lower. His hands felt professional, even being his first time.

He seemed to know exactly how to touch her. To please her. Their tongues fought for a sort of playful dominance, Dipper giving in shortly after. He enjoyed it when Wendy took control.

Dipper began to unbutton his shirt, only for her fingers to brush his own away. She leaned in on him, biting harshly on his ear lobe before speaking through a pant.

"_Let me do it_..." She ground down on him, drawing out a soft moan as her hands began to trace over his shirt. She worked fast, popping each button off with a sort of fumbling speed as she grew more and more exhilarated by the sight of skin.

Soon enough, his chest was fully exposed and wonderfully tone. She went for his collar bone, nipping at him playfully. Perky breasts rubbed against Dipper's skin, who explored her body freely.

He ran his fingers over the soft flesh of her stomach, up the sides of her torso, down to her ass, and past her thighs. He couldn't force himself to touch her more intimate parts, and as he felt Wendy grab his hand, leading it to her dripping folds, a flash of cold ran through his body.

He didn't feel like doing this anymore. But, all the while she moaned and giggled at his touch, he couldn't bring himself to pull away. She kissed his neck, her fingers working to slide his unbuttoned shirt from his shoulders, her hips bucking into his hand.

Slowly, her finger nails began to trail down his chest, the most manly feature about him. Aside from slightly bushier eyebrows and an obvious height difference, it was no surprise to anyone that Dipper and Mabel looked virtually the same.

Both unavoidably beautiful. Both unavoidably identical, as many twins were. And Dipper, who hated more than anything to be told he looked like his girly sister, took great pride in the bit of maleness he had been given. He made sure to harden his chest just slightly, feeling her nails trail to the outline of his dress pants.

'_Okay, Dipper. This is happening_.' Dipper remained calm, his muscles relaxing as Wendy took slow swipes at his V-line, obviously teasing him. For some reason, he was more than happy to let her postpone their mischief. For as long as she needed to.

'_This is fine, Dipper. Deep Breath_...' His breath hitched, feeling her finger tips brush over the sensitive exterior of his pants.

'_You're a man, Dipper. Be a man_.' He began to break out in a sweat as she added pressure to his crotch, mistaking his groan of discomfort as one of pleasure.

'_That... Didn't feel right_.' He moved his hands to her hair, hoping to steady himself. The curvy woman had a perfectly shaped ass and wonderfully pert breasts, and yet his favorite part about her was the red hair. He ran his fingers through her strands, taking note of her scent. At twenty five, she still went to the store and bought from the men's section.

The durable smell of '_Irish Springs_' or even '_Axe_' body wash seemed to smooth over her skin with a relishing foam. He moved his nose to press into the lush forestry of waves, absorbing himself in the husky scent as she continued to rub him. He slowly began to harden.

Wendy let out a soft chuckle, noting his subtle growth as she continued to move over him. Dipper laid a small kiss on her forehead, holding onto her oddly male aroma as long as he could.

His hands moved away from Wendy's hair, her fingers clasping onto his zipper. He felt out her broad shoulders in the darkness, kneading his thumbs into her tender meat. She had always been so sturdy, working for her father's physically grueling company.

Loading trucks. Chopping down trees. Lifting things far beyond her petite size. He moved down Wendy's back, a quiver running through her as he examined the sturdy exterior.

Her back muscles had always been so prominent... He heard the shrill '_zip_' of his pants, and soon found himself being stripped and teased. In all honesty, he knew he should have been thrilled. His childhood crush, now older and more matured, sat before him rubbing the inner part of his thigh.

Wendy, who was absolutely _kick ass_. Funny. Clever. Tough. Strong. Independent. The biggest and baddest sibling of the Corduroy's household. Who wore flannel shirts, muddy boots, and her brother's body wash.

_A complete tomboy._

Dipper grew with thrill, recalling her usual appearance, only to turn and see her scarlet dress sprawled out on the floor. He had almost been disappointed when he saw her in it. It wasn't her usual baggy set of clothes, thoughtlessly thrown on and completely unflattering to her physique.

Instead, it was a slim dress, considerate and complimenting to the feminine curvature of her busty design. For some odd reason, that made him uneasy. Her hand slid past the waist band of his boxers, causing him to shoot up and catch her arm.

"_**Wait**_!" He rushed out, shock flowing over him the instance he realized what he had done. Wendy looked startled, originally excited and ready to do whatever he wanted her to do. She felt the strength of his grip, smirking slightly at his hidden power. He must have been nervous for his first time. Her lips pursed at him, hushing Dipper in a soothing manor.

"_It's okay. We can go slow_." She comforted in a seductive tone, about to pull her hand away and continue her work. Dipper's grip tightened.

"_**No**, I_-" Wendy looked more closely at him now, sure he wasn't saying what she thought he was saying. Dipper wished he wasn't, either. It was embarrassing, being twenty two and pulling this excuse. Of course, if you didn't feel comfortable, it was fine to admit it and stop before things went too far.

But still. It hurt Dipper's pride having to say it. "I'm not ready." There was a pause throughout the room, Wendy's hand going limp as his words began to seep in.

"..._Seriously_?" She didn't sound annoyed or ticked off. More than anything, she sounded baffled. Dipper had been pining for her since he was a little kid, and only recently had she begun to feel the same way. He was absolutely ecstatic when she admitted to liking him over a year ago. And the dates had been a lot of fun. In fact, they had hardly changed from their normal hanging out.

Just movies and gas stations and mysteries. This was their first date with actual romance, and Dipper had completely spoiled the mood. He sighed, releasing her hand as he stood from the couch to pick up his pants. He refused to look behind him, knowing that she was either pouting or trying not to be pissed about being turned on and then rejected.

Which she was. His shirt came next, bending over to slip either arm into the sleeves with a clumsy tug. The lights came on with a flick of the wrist, and Wendy was quickly enveloped in disappointment. The mood had officially been killed.

"So, uh... This was fun." Dipper commented awkwardly, looking down to button his shirt up. Wendy huffed, crossing her arms as she watched him.

"Well, it _would_ have been." She retorted with hostility, and he couldn't blame her. What was _wrong_ with him?


	2. Roger Pissed On A Statue

"**Summer**!" The RV was packed with teens chatting and drinking and smoking to their heart's content. The driver, a senior by the name of Liam McCarson, held the steering wheel with one hand and a beer in the other.

Periodically, his driving hand would smack against the wheel and he'd sing along to whatever was playing on the radio. The rear view mirror had been knocked off by a passing car, while the one up front was turned so Liam could see his own reflection or take a peak at Abby Wikener, who always wore her hair up.

He was a disruptive boy, always causing trouble. And, this summer, he promised to cause as much as he could. His hand slid away from his drink, placing it on the dash board, as he turned to fiddle with the radio stations. A series of static and incoherent speeches crawled past the stereo, only for the clear chime of a smooth voice to come through.

"-And that was '_Hookers_' By Tierra Whack! The time is 2:27. It's a _beautiful_ day, girl! Forecast coming out as _straight up_ 84 degrees, dog! Sunny _all_ day!" The boy turned the volume up, waiting for the next stream of songs to begin. He moved to his pocket, sliding out a pack of cigarettes before placing it on his lips.

His elbow moved to the steering wheel, keeping it still as he lit the roll with his lighter. He had made a promise to his mother not to smoke while on the road trip, but he never specified what.

"-third caller wins a special prize! Special in the _real_ way, girl! Just call-" Mild static ate through the next half of the announcer's sentence, causing Liam to grumble and flick at its antenna. A moment more and the station was back.

"-I'm Chubby Z, and you're listening to _104.3, Gravity Falls greatest hits_!" A blast of air horns assaulted the speaker, causing Liam to cringe. He changed the station just as a sign labelled "_Welcome to Gravity Falls_" passed by the van.

The teens noticed it, barking and cheering as their long drive from Colorado to Oregon was about to begin. He smirked, running a hand through his oily red hair as he noticed the thickening of forestry before him.

"**Woooah! Woooah**!" He craned his neck, seeing his best friend Roger Mac down the last bit of his drink, shirtless and crazed.

He laughed, shaking his head before looking back at the road. His finger moved to pick at a pimple on his chin, not really minding if it bled, thinking about all the crazy shit they could get into. They'd spray paint water towers and shop lift gift stores and hoard all the snacks in a gas station by the time they made it to their temporary apartment.

At least, they would have if Roger hadn't had to use the bathroom so badly.

"_Shiiiiiiit Liaaaaaaam_!" Roger groaned, stumbling to the driver's seat with a woozy look.

"Isn't there a gas station or something around here?" His head lulled a bit, placing his hand on Liam's shoulder as he whined.

"You went, like, half an hour ago." He scoffed, shaking Roger's hand away. He groaned again, this time in annoyance, placing either of his hands between his own legs.

"And then I got _thirsty_!" He seemed concerned, his eyes shifting ahead of the road in search of a rest stop. Liam just laughed in response.

"Just pee in a cup or something!" He made sure all the girls could hear him too, all of whom scrunched up their noses and gave Roger a disgusted look.

"**_Eeeew_**, Roger _don't_!" Kimberly Miller demanded with a sour tone. Roger quickly snapped his head around.

"I wasn't _GOING_ to! _Liam_!" His eyes looked hurt, shaking Liam's chair with fury.

"Just- Jesus, just _pull over, **Liam**_!" He grit his teeth, not sure if he could hold it much longer, only for the RV to slow down.

"Make it quick." Roger didn't stop to respond, only bursting out the door and running into the woods. With a sigh, Liam kicked his feet up on the dash and waited for his friend to return. He listened intently to a conversation being had behind him. Jackson McCoy was apparently trying to hit on Abby.

A slight hiss went past his lips, knowing McCoy was much more handsome and much more intelligent. And to top it all off, he had a thing for girls with their hair up. Liam didn't stand a chance. He looked to the door Roger had left open, rolling his eyes as he forced himself to stand up and close it. His legs felt wobbly, numb from hours upon hours of just sitting around driving this damn contraption.

He almost cursed ever going on this trip, already feeling emotionally drained, only to see the faintest of figures running towards the car with frantically waving arms. Roger. Liam leaned against the entrance of the RV, watching as he approached completely out of breath.

"Did you wipe?" Liam joked, expecting some kind of nasty response like '_fuck you_'. Instead, Roger was absolutely shaking with excitement and interest, trying to catch his breath as he spoke.

"I was-... Takin' a _piss_ in the forest-" He turned to point at his exit, making sure everyone inside heard him.

"-and I found some _CRAZY_ shit!" His eyes were blown wide, beaming as everyone began to peak out their window or whisper to one another. Liam paused, looking his friend up and down for a moment.

"Your fly's down." He said simply, stepping out of the vehicle. Roger grumbled, zipping it up with a '_hmp_' before turning back to him.

"You _GOTTA_ see it!" Liam didn't lead on that he was interested, even though he definitely was. What could he have possibly seen that was so cool? Roger was a simple guy. It didn't take much for him to get worked up.

But this? He hadn't seen this since Roger found that peep hole that lead right into the girl's locker room. He sighed, crossing his arms as everyone began to make their way out.

"Lead the way, captain." Roger turned, sprinting with excitement as the group followed behind.

"It was- Like- like a statue or some shit!" He burped between pauses, stumbling over his own two feet as the shrubbery became harder to maneuver.

"A _statue_?" One of the girls scoffed, jogging in such a way that she made sure all of the boys were looking at her. Of course, she'd say they were perverts if she ever caught them, but made sure to keep hold of that bit of flattery it gave her.

"There aren't any statues around here. The map would have said so." The '_map_' was a folded up pamphlet used to trap and ensnare tourists into visiting some of the most boring attractions known to man. Everyone seemed to ignore her comment.

"You _sure_ you're sober enough for this?" Haden Wilmer, the only junior in the group, slicked back his hair as the wood's humidity continued to climb.

"Shut up I know what I'm doing." Roger slurred. Just as he did, his heels dug into the dirt, forcing everyone behind him to stop.

"There! There it is!" And there it was. A giant stony triangle half sunken into the ground, it's hand extended out to them. A silence fell over the group, looking at the one eyed being with a dark spot from where Roger had pissed on it.

"What... The _fuck_?" Jackson McCoy stepped forward, making sure to avoid the more damp soil as he examined it.

"Is it an attraction?"

"In the middle of no where? Yeah, right."

"Jeez, it's _HUGE_. Maybe it sank in from all the mud and rain? God, it's moldy, too." Rachel Smiths poked at her glasses, shifting them back in place as she spoke. She wasn't as bright as people thought she was, and didn't have half the moral backbone her parents thought she had. In fact, she was arguably the _evilest_ in the group. They stood there, all seven of them, looking over the figure with a sort of childlike wonder. It was a mystery.

"Holy shit, guys... I think we just _discovered_ something." Haden Wilmer grinned with a sinister glow.

"Hey, wait! I found it _first_!" Roger retorted, instantly regretting showing them.

"That's not how the history book'll remember it. Abby, take a photo of me." With that, Liam tossed his phone at her, her fingers fumbling as they worked to keep the slick square from crashing to the ground. He walked up to the statue, arm draped over its extended hand, only for Roger to complain.

"Yo, stop! _I'M_ the one that found it!" He pushed Liam a bit, trying to shuffle his way into the picture frame, only for Liam to shove back.

"Yeah right, ass hat! I drove us all day! You wouldn't have found it if it weren't for me!" His palm smacked against Roger's forehead, pushing his face away from the figure as best he could.

"Guys, stop! We can _ALL_ be in the picture!" Abby compromised, only for the boys to snap their heads at her.

"_**No**_!" They said in unison, continuing their pointless brawl. Abby put the phone in her pocket, arms crossed as they continued to push at each other.

"Ugh! Quit fighting! You _KNOW_ I'm stronger than you!" Roger snarled, trying to pull Liam into a half nelson. He growled in response.

"Since when? Third grade? You know I had a scraped knee that day! It didn't even COUNT!" He elbowed Roger in the stomach, this time causing him to stumble backwards into the arm of the statue, which gave a small cracking noise in response. Kimberly gasped.

"Guys, STOP!" They didn't listen, continuing to push and scratch.

Soon however, the fighting stopped. Liam had punched Roger in the jaw, fed up with his failed attempts at a half nelson, causing him to fall back into the triangle's arms. His falling stopped for a moment, held up by his stony savior, only to hear the haunting rumble of shifting rubble, followed by the statue's arm breaking off.

It had been a noodly little arm, a poor decision on the sculpture's part. The teens gaped at it for a moment, only for Roger to pick it up and shove it into Liam's hands.

"This is _YOUR_ fault, bitch! You broke it!" He accused, Liam's face turning red in response. If Roger had just stayed out of the damn picture, there wouldn't have been a problem. He had only been joking with him, first off. But Roger was far too drunk to tell the difference and Liam was far too mad to bother explaining it.

"Me?! You're the one who-!" He was stopped by Abby, who balled up her fists and looked at both of them with annoyance.

"Shut up! Both of you! It's _BOTH_ of your faults, okay? So, just-! Just stop talking and get back to the RV!" She turned on her heels, already making her way back to the car. The teens looked to her, then back at the two boys who had been arguing, only to follow behind. Liam groaned, sure now that he didn't stand a chance with her.

"Well, you at least got a cool souvenir out of it." Roger offered, perhaps forgiving their little scuffle a few seconds ago. Liam looked to the arm he held, weighty and awkwardly placing between his finger tips. It'd look kind of cool on his dash board...


	3. Body

It's been so long, feeling awake and conscious and aware... How many years has it been since I was foiled? How long have I waited for my chance? I felt a strange sensation shoot through my vessel. A simple pain that awoke me with spine tingling pleasure.

I was vaguely aware of young voices, screaming and enraged. Chaos. Sweet, _perfect_ chaos. Though my stony cell was designed to look like me, I had no use or function for it.

My hands could not move, nor could my eye see. By human standards, I had been left completely immobilized, and so spared complete destruction by sledge hammer or worse. However, being a dream demon I was still blessed with a gift no worthless mortal possessed: _A sixth sense_. I knew they were around me. Six. _No_, seven. All teenagers, selfish and easily corruptible. That is, with the right incentive.

All this time, my conscious had been centered around the pit of this stone. I could neither reach out nor experience the changing of seasons around me. But, something was slowly beginning to change.

After the wonderful pain that awoke me, I began to feel as though I was moving. And yet, I knew my cell still sat sunken deep within the dirt. It was like a small part of me had been taken, my bit of person notifying me of its departure.

So that's what had happened. Someone had broken something. Something small off of me, and It was now being carried away like a trophy... Perfect! I strained myself, focusing my energy on the separate bit of stone, forcing my consciousness into it. There was a sucking sensation, feeling myself black out, only to reemerge feeling much smaller and much lighter.

Now I was completely aware of the movement. I continued to swing back and forth, as if being twirled between fingers or drummed with. Whoever had taken me would be my FIRST victim! I could already feel my pent up energy spark, picturing the complete disfigurement of their grotesque body. Soon, they'd be a masterpiece and I'd be free. A _win-win_! I heard periodic murmurs, a slight sneer, a few disapproving grunts.

"Liam! You can't keep that thing! What if it's _cursed_?" A feminine voice piped in, and I laughed internally at her remark. She had no idea. I sensed the group's own flow of laughter, pinning her statement as childish and paranoid.

"Chill OUT, Abby. It's just a stupid _toy_." My second victim jabbed. A few more moments of bickering and I was put down. I cursed, wondering if they had placed me down outside, only to feel my consciousness continue to move, this time much faster and with periodic turns. I must have been in a vehicle of some kind. That'd make my resurrection _FAR_ easier, if they were snappy about it.

Time has no meaning to me. It's an illusion. A pitiful construct of human perception used to track the position of the sun. So when I sensed a hand grip me, pull me to their chest like a teddy bear, and fall asleep, it hadn't even felt like a human hour.

I felt around their mind's defenses and was both pleased and unimpressed. They were drunk, that was for sure. And what's more they were probably very high.

Not to mention they were stupid beyond all reason. It was easier than anything to sneak in, even in my embarrassingly weak form. There, I could see. Just barely, I could make out the fogginess of his dull mind, purples and bleak with a sort of smoke floating around.

Definitely high.

Perhaps I was weaker than I thought, because I still remained formless within his mind. But I could speak.

"Well, he's certainly a _simple_ one!" I chimed, rubbing my non existent hands together. There was a slight jolt within the being's thought waves, as if to acknowledge my presence. Now to get down to business.

I moved through the darkness, sensing out the center of his consciousness to communicate with him. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to have my sexily angled self back.

It'd make this transaction much easier. I peered ahead, making out the black indent of a figure hidden in the fog. A kind of scrawny fellow with what appeared to be a rat's nest of hair with something thin between his fingers. He seemed to smoke even in his dreams.

I grew mildly annoyed, far too aware of my weakened state now. I couldn't even tell what he **LOOKED** like. There were too many layer's in this idiot's head for me to properly grasp its plain of existence.

But, perhaps I could use that to my advantage...

"**_A-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!_**" I bellowed, quickly gaining the shadow's attention. Though invisible to him, his body was able to trace the direction of my voice and face me all the same. "Well, well, well! Seems like _someone's_ having a _nightmare_~!" His form shook, shrinking in on itself as confusion overwhelmed him.

"Who's there?!" The joint between his fingers disappeared and I became vaguely aware of a change in scenery. His mind was already being warped by my presence! I '_tsked_' at him several times, as if to shame him for his ignorance. It was a perfect leeway into my next move.

"Oh, don't tell me you've forgotten who's arm you were cuddling up to a second ago." I cackled with joy, watching the form gape in realization. If only I could wage that dopey expression of his.

"... _Holy Shit_... Are you a _ghost_?" The boy breathed, backing away from me. I paused for dramatic effect. It'd been far too long since I'd last ruined someone's mind.

"Oh, _MUCH_ worse!" My voice deepened at the announcement, something that always sent a shock of thrill through my form. I'm the greatest! It was like a fresh breath of air sensing the frantic nature of his brain waves as he surged with fear.

"W-what do you want?!" My original plan had been to possess this weak body. Take control of it. Use it. And find a way back to one particular family I had a bone to pick with. My time trapped within that bit of stone definitely gave me enough time to plan it out.

Shooting Star was the bright enthusiasm of the group. So, she'd have to go first. Nothing spiced up my mood like a dead child!

Pine tree was easy pickings, with his noodle arms and legs. He couldn't run far and that fat head of his wasn't even half as impressive as he boasted. He would be my second victim.

Around this time, Sixer'd catch wind of my movements and try to stop me. Obviously, he'd be a pathetic opponent and I'd kill him effortlessly. My third victim.

And, I saved the best for last: _Fez_. I couldn't wait to get my hands on that traitorous con man for what he'd done to me. A wonderfully slow death awaited him!

Followed by the downfall of the rest of the town, then the world. A beautiful sight, really!

But... I would still be in a _human_ body. Like when I possessed Pine tree, I didn't have the powers I had in the mindscape. I'd just be... human. No upper hand. No threat to be reckoned with. Just... Shit.

I might actually have to _CONVINCE_ this human to help me, or I'll never get anywhere. Thinking for a moment, I drew up my speech and my alternative motive. First, I needed a body. My OWN body. And there was just one way to get it...

"_Whoa, whoa, whoa_! Calm down, Smokey! I'm just hear to chat!" This'd have to sound compelling. Even someone with a pea brain could sniff out a heavy fib if I was sloppy with it.

"I see you've found my shrine, then?" I could see the story forming in my head. This would be a perfectly crafted lie.

"Sh-SHRINE? W-what do you mean?" The mortal grew just slightly, as if glowing from my statement. I could already tell he was a selfish one. He was expecting some kind of payoff, like I was a genie in a lamp. So very, very perfect.

"You stumbled onto my shrine, kid! My spot of worship! My holy place! Where all the sacrificed virgins come to hang! How else should I put it?" This was easily the most fun I'd had in a while. How long have I even been STUCK in this stone? A year? _Two_? Damn, those twins are probably stupid and worried about being popular by now! I'm almost disappointed by how weak they'll be...

"Worship?! Holy Hell! _Are you_-?!"

"A God?" So wonderfully, fantastically perfect. "I guess you could say that."

"_Whoa_..." I didn't even have to read his mind to tell he was thinking about all the things he could do with a god trapped in an arm. Like I was some kind of monkey sidekick he could get to help with his homework or talk about girls with.

_'I wonder how far I can push this.'_

"Yeah, kid! I'm pretty damn strong, too!" Now, to bait him.

"How strong?" He asked, followed by, "_God, I must be fucking smashed if I'm actually taking this seriously..._"

"Ha-ha! I can do LOTS OF THINGS! Save planets. Make crops grow. Battle other gods. Throw lightning bolts. Grant wishes. Send out plagues-" The mortal interrupted me, but I was too glad he took the bait to care.

"_Waitwaitwaitwaitwait_! You can- Like a genie? Grant wishes? How many?"

"As many as I want! I'm a God, kid. Not a blue slave in a lamp." There was a pause, then the uncomfortable shifting of weight from one foot to the other.

"So... Since I _found_ you..." His voice trailed off, waiting for me to fill in the blank. If only he knew I had filled it in LONG before this conversation had started.

"You want a wish?" I expected him to grow awkward. To seem modest and uncomfortable like a certain little boy I knew. Instead, he shook his head vigorously, eager to receive his reward.

"I wanna be hot! Hotter than Jackson McCoy! That way, Abby'll be into _me_!" I couldn't help myself from laughing at his statement. He was _DEFINITELY_ a teenager. A stupid one at that! Maybe even dumber than the Pines family!

"Hey, slow your roll, pal! Let me say something first!" His enthusiasm died down instantly, but I could still feel the entitlement flowing out of him in waves.

"So you wanna be hot? That's _great_! A lot of people wanna be hot, and some of them even go to the lengths of getting plastic surgery for it!" The human cut in.

"But I don't WANT plastic surgery! I want to be _NATURALLY_ handsome!" I would have rolled my eye if I had one.

"My point is-" I swirl around him, my voice coming from a different direction now. "You'll have to **_pay_ **if you want the surgery..." I felt it again, the slight wavering of his thoughts as he mulled over my statement. Everyone wants free stuff. Hell, I want it, too! But this is a capitalist nation, and no way am I letting him take without giving.

"What do I pay?" Splendidly, wonderfully, positively perfect beyond all comprehension of man.

"Well, I need a body, for one!" The boy shrank, and I instantly added to it.

"Not to fuck, partner. Just to move in."

"Why do you need one?" He was growing skeptical, nothing I couldn't handle.

"Am I supposed to grant your wish in _HERE_? I'll need to be on a physical plain to make your dreams come true! Ha! You're a funny human!" Flattery seemed to work on him, whether or not I intended on it to be so, as he beamed from my empty statement.

He really wasn't funny. His brain was damp and hollow and without any real shine to it. There didn't seem to be much knowledge, and what knowledge there was had been moved to the very back in favor of his doubts and insecurities. I wouldn't even keep him as a pet.

How pathetic.

"What happens when you _GET_ your body?"

"I become _VERY_ strong and _VERY_ wish grant-y, of course!" I could sense his unsurety in my words, and so I quickly attacked it. "Hey! I'll be in a good mood, right? Might as well shed some light on this earth before it's engulfed by the sun!"

"But- Then what? What are you gonna do after?" This stupid human _STILL_ wasn't sold. He may have been an idiot, but I guess even HE could tell when something was too good to be true.

"Haven't you ever read Greek mythology? I'll probably indulge in your human pleasures for a bit. Maybe shack up with a couple of deer and make some ungodly hybrid. You know. Normal God stuff." The being cringed away for a moment, though I could sense his thought waves begin to sooth. He was coming around. A brief moment of contemplation, and it was like someone had offered him a million dollars.

"_Alright_." He said finally. "_Let's get you a body_."


	4. A Cup In The Morning

My coffee was black, brewing on the counter as I listened intently to the little television that was placed on the wall. _Another robbery_. I propped my elbow against the kitchen counter, my chin resting in its palm as the news reports continued to stream out of the speakers.

"_-robbery last night in Curry county. Police say the culprit dug up the body of Fredrick Johns, age 94, before removing his spinal cord and leaving the rest of the body without alteration_."

My leg began to bounce in anticipation, left hand going to tap at the isle's wooden surface. _Grave_ robberies. An impressive string dedicated to stealing organs and bones alike.

**All** located in Oregon.

At first, the occurrence was local news in Wallowa county, sparked by the theft of deceased Margaret Joy's large intestines. It had hardly passed by my radar as supernatural or even _interesting_.

Strange of course to the average male, but I was located in a town _full_ of nut jobs. Not to mention the distance. Wallowa was miles upon miles from Roadkill county. It was beyond my jurisdiction.

Until recently.

The next day, a second robbery was reported, this time in _Union_ county. Right next to Wallowa. The unburied body of Greg Simmons was found, emptied of his colon and, once again, left otherwise unbothered.

Thirty-seven counties in total. Thirty-_four_ of which had been struck in a relatively organized manor. The trail seemed to begin at one end and slowly work its way to the other side of the state.

Each county's police department was put on notice, although little effort was put into catching the culprit. It was a grave robbery, and not even one of jewelry or worldly keep-sakes within the coffin.

It was one of senseless theft that no reasonable person would ever commit. The news had covered what little information they had on the subject, and people quickly tired of the obvious pattern. The victims had all been dead before hand, meaning there was no murder. None of the bodies had been defiled, making the crime without sexual intent. From what everyone could tell, the graves were simply being disturbed.

They called him, '_The Surgeon_'. Not out of fear, but out of mockery. Each case had been sloppily done, making it apparent this man had no real medical experience. It was sheer luck he even found the _anus_. No one was really interested in the case.

If anything, it was a foot note at the bottom of the news paper, outshined by amateur journalists writing on recipes and local gossip. None of my colleagues bothered to bring the case up, leaving myself the only one engaged.

_Which only made the mystery that much more exciting._

I turned to my left, coffee soon rationed out evenly between two cups; One, a simple blue with the white outlining of a pine tree. The other, a monstrous concoction of glitter and glue, making it un-microwavable and depriving it of any real pleasure drinking from it.

A poorly painted star sat frozen mid-drip in the center, proud and exaggerated. As I poured the remainder in her cup, she seemed to appear on cue.

"_Good morning_!" Mabel beamed, already dressed and clipping on her starry earrings. She was quick to swoop in and snatch the cup from my hands, moving to the cupboards to fetch some sugar.

"Morning." I responded simply, my attention soon being re-absorbed by the television, although monotonous in its information. The reporter droned on like a broken record, repeating the tiny bits of detail they had on the matter.

"_-No eye witnesses to be sure, but detectives say they're on the case. I'm Shandra Jimenez, and you're-_" The channel was quickly switched to a colorful cartoon about boys in bear hats and stretchy yellow dogs. I jumped at the slight shock before turning around.

"_Mabel_!" She sat at the breakfast table, legs crossed as she stirred her coffee, eyes glued to the TV.

"What? You've been watching the news channel all _week_! It's my turn." The volume was turned up, Mabel going to blow at her coffee before continuing. "It's boring, anyways."

"Yeah? Well, that '_boring_' news coverage is part of my job."

"So you agree it's boring." Mabel quipped before taking a sip of her drink. I grumbled, trying to shake the comment away, only for it to sink in and sting a little. Not even Mabel found the grave robberies interesting.

"_No_." I reached for my mug's handle, coffee bitter and without topping.

Mabel and I shared virtually everything. From our womb to our childhood bedroom to our first car to our current apartment. Our differing taste seemed to be the last thing we felt individually split upon.

"Aren't you a bit old for _kids_' shows?" My voice remained indifferent, drawing away any signs of hostility or offence. I leaned against the kitchen counter, viewing the screen in mild amusement as the main character continued to swing his sword around. Mabel looked to me, seeing the slight smile that stretched across my lips before responding with one of her own.

"Aren't _you_?" I said nothing, simply enjoying the bit of nostalgia the cartoon provided me.

It's been a long time since I've felt like a kid.

The show continued for a bit longer, Mabel taking the liberty of pulling out a box of cereal and nibbling on its contents dry. Looking to my right, I duly noted the oven's clock with the clear glow of red numbers reading out '**_7:47_**.' My eyes pulled away from the screen, moving to the bedroom to finish dressing.

I had already suited myself in a pair of dark slacks, coupled simply by a white button up shirt that clasped either of my wrists. A black tie was slipped around my neck, Mabel taking notice and swinging around to finish tying it.

"You know, you might look good in a bow tie..." I scoffed, wiggling my tie as it hugged my throat awkwardly.

"I'm not trying to look _dapper_. Trust me, I'd be going to work in _sweat pants_ if I could."

"Dipper, _don't_!" Mabel cringed, leaning back in her chair as she pictured it. "You look so _handsome_ in your uniform!"

"_Says the twin._" She chuckled at my statement, sliding off her chair before patting herself of crumbs.

"What can I say? _You've got perfect genes_." She gave her shoulders a little shimmy as she spoke, posing herself in such a way I couldn't help but laugh.

We shared many things. From our womb to our childhood bedroom to our first car to our current apartment. To our _faces_.

Of course, anyone could tell I was a male and she was the opposite, from my broadened shoulders and flattened chest. But that didn't make us any less identical. My chin was slender. My lashes were long. My waist was thin. My hair was soft.

My whole being was soft! And it never helped knowing that, a few years back, people had come to the overwhelming conclusion that I had a nicer ass than her...

_Mabel was just as mortified._

Growing a beard didn't seem to be an option either, much to my dismay. I definitely didn't look like a women. I just looked... very, very _pretty_... for a male.

I rolled my eyes at Mabel, gagging at her statement before slipping on my police vest. A thick, sleeveless fabric with both my name plate "_Pines_" and an over worn badge pinned to my vest's breast. Although scratchy at times, there was a sort of familiarity with the thing.

A kind of upgrade from my blue one, though mandatory of my uniform and demanding in authority now. Something I would have killed for as a child.

I looked to the window, a leaden sky of dull blues and greys that paused just for us. It would rain soon.

"We should head out."

"_What_?" Mabel whined, eyeing the television longingly. "But Princess Bumble Mug just made a cure for the zombies!"

I crossed my arms smiling, only to lean up and turn it off.

"We can watch it later." I turned to grab my keys.

"_Laaaater_?!"

"_Mabel_-" I cautioned, as though talking to a child. Which, in a way, I was.

"I have _time_!"

"No, you have a _job_. And if you wanna keep working at '_Granny's Crafts Imperium_', you'll meet me in the car."

She let out a '_hmp_', crossing her arms as I slipped my coat on.

"Come on." I tilted my head towards the door, nudging in its direction with a grin. "We can have a marathon _after_ you get off. I'll buy snacks."

We reached the car in the garage, an '_El Diablo convertible 4 door sedan_.' Which sounded luxurious until you realized it was just the car Stan used to own. A '_Stan-me-down_' is what he called it.

I called it a piece of _shit_.

Mabel's job was about five minutes from my work at the police department. A quaint shop between a pie shop and the post office, with a little blue roof and a cutely carved door. It had dry, chipped paint curling off the walls as well as shiny little windows that showcased buttons and yarn and fabric patterns.

It was once a relatively peaceful shop. One that old ladies grew accustomed to and nursing women enjoyed bringing their teething children into so they'd calm down.

I don't think I need to explain how Mabel changed all of that.


	5. How Was It?

The stop light sat frozen in time, blaring red and with profound brightness through the gloomy overcast. I had swung past the diner just moments ago, grabbing myself another coffee before work. I always needed one.

It sat on the dash, its white coat partially hidden behind a cardboard sleeve that drooped and absorbed the coffee's dripping. My eyes shifted to just beyond the car's roof, examining the boiling red that seemed to provoke a sort of trepidation as it burned against the sky's dark exterior.

I didn't worry about being late to work. I wasn't on a fixed schedule. Red lights simply annoyed me, and I felt particularly restrained when confronted by them. I sighed, reaching for my cup just as the light swapped to a gaudy green.

A small sip, burnt, sharp and deprived of sweetness, before my foot eased down on the gas. Mabel always blanched at my drinks, sniffing at the steam that rose to her nostrils before snapping it away from her face and considered pouring it out. I would laugh. We had always been so different.

I reminisced on these little things, even going so far as to recite the few bits of conversation we had had on separate occasions, as the dreary exterior of cold granite and paled windows approached.

_Grey_. The building was grey. And, on days in which the sun couldn't so much as lighten its tint, the bricks almost looked nefarious. A dull slab, bland and evasive of color and wonder.

At least on the outside.

On the inside, I was instantly greeted by rushing bodies, fixing their collars, pulling at the hems of their skirts, carrying papers, leaning over water coolers, brushing past me to take a drag outside, or maybe just to make a personal phone call.

_All before 9 AM._

The police department hadn't always been so heavily employed. On the contrary, hardly anyone was qualified to emerge as an officer in this town. Even the sheriff. The majority of them were imports, plucked from their original stations in New York, Kansas, California, Louisiana, and where ever else the state's population could read beyond a fourth grade level.

Weirdmaggedon had done some strange things to the town. Although unspoken, people had become more cautious. More skeptical. More _despondent_. A slow dissolve of their own self-reliance emerged, though cloaked by the boasting of Bill's demise. But, it wasn't fooling anyone. We had almost been destroyed.

So, a police force. A bigger one, more elaborate and with more-experienced individuals. All of whom were vaguely briefed on the town's lore, complete with supernatural displays of ghosts, goblins, and gobblewonkers. But, they had all either seen too _much _or cared too _little _to acknowledge the strange creatures. All matured and unnervingly level headed when faced by something otherworldly.

"Morning, Pines." Came a casual voice.

He stood by the water cooler, a Styrofoam cup held between curled fingers. A mess of inky black hair slicked over his forehead, insultingly Asian as it shot down, flat and lifeless, into a bowl cut. He was pasty, though red and sensitive against mild sunlight.

He wore spectacles. Without comical nerdiness or a broken bridge that was taped up by visibly white bandages. Just thin. A delicate pair that perched over his nose, simply used to tilt his face forward and peer over their rims to seem as though he knew more than he did. A sort of glance that made you check yourself. Your hands. Your clothes. Your shoes. To make sure none of the evidence had been unceremoniously added to your design.

And, by the time you flinched to examine the cuff links of your suit or the eaglets of your laces, you had given yourself away to him.

"Morning, Kings." My hand rose in a half-hearted lift before flopping back down against my slacks.

We weren't friends, really. He was a bit too slow for me. Not to say that he wasn't smart. He was very much so. There was just a laziness about him. Something oddly pretentious in his late reports, early clocking outs, and complete disregard for dress code. As though to say he couldn't be bothered.

But, we were otherwise chummy. He enjoyed talking, something I didn't mind listening to. Most of the time. Not to mention he was well-versed in everything nerd. I'd invite him over for some '_D, D, and more D', _if I didn't dread the idea of him making sure his '_schedule was clear.' _

Like he was in high demand or something.

"How's that case you're working on?" Derision was just barely smothered by his otherwise indifferent tone.

I had seemingly been pinned to a stale case, one with little information and few leads. And, as far as he was concerned, it had been laid on me like an anvil. Only I seemed to know how badly I actually wanted to work on the case.

"_Good_. I've got an idea of where they'll be striking next, actually." I leaned towards him, my coffee paralleling his water.

I tried my hardest not to slit my eyes, keeping up that friendly exterior we both understood was partially pretense. He let out an amused scoff, his lips curling into a tantalizing smirk. That bastard.

"_Really? _Fascinating!" He didn't even bother to ask _where_, simply responding with condescending disbelief and a hint of sarcasm. I huffed, shifting my eyes away as my fingers went to comb through brown curls.

"Well, anyways." He continued. "How'd your _date _go?" I had just lifted the drink to my lips, coffee spreading over my tongue with a bitter strangle, only to freeze as the question reached me.

He hadn't cared about my case at _all_. It was simply a leeway into what he really wanted to know.

_How was it?_

My lips continued to press against the cup's plastic top, eyes finally narrowing, though focused on nothing as I faced just ahead of me. With one swift motion, they snapped his way with venom, viewing his suggestive expression as his eyebrow cocked up playfully.

The drink lowered from my mouth, lips parted just slightly as I scowled in distaste. I didn't want to talk about last night. I didn't want to talk about Wendy. I didn't want to _talk_. All he wanted from me was a full blown description. How she looked. How she felt. How she _tasted_.

"Fine. We had dinner."

"Who cooked?"

"I did." Cooking had come surprisingly easy to me. It was like chemistry. Just balance out the elements and make sure everything works together without exploding. Simple.

"What'd you have for _dessert_?" A wink. A grin, slowly twisting into a mischievous smile. I glowered.

"I didn't make any." He rolled his eyes, readjusting his specks at my response. An air of amused frustration began to bubble over in good humor.

"Oh, come on man! You know what I _mean_! How was _dessert?_" He rephrased it, this time jostling me with his elbow. A stupid beam remained cracked over his lips, though I was quickly losing my patience.

"Fuck off, Kings." I remarked, light yet sincere. He feigned being wounded, more than familiar with my surprisingly foul mouth.

"You're no fun." His advances seemed to soften, though he continued to persist. "You could at least rate it."

"_Zero_." I dead-panned, looking at him with lidded eyes.

"_God_, _Dipper_." A snicker slipped out of him, his drink rising to his lips. But, not before he presented me with _this _beauty. "Any other guy'd _kill _to be in your shoes. Are you _gay _or something?"

It was a joke. A simple joke meant to demean and humiliate my manhood with the prompt: _Do you like being fucked?_

I should have laughed. I should have scoffed and rolled my eyes, redirecting the same statement right back at him. I should have lied and told him how good the sex had been. I should have given him every detail and exulted myself as a dominant male. I should have just said '_I'm straight.'_

And yet, the words choked me. I couldn't force them out, and I became defensive as he slurped his drink, eyes closed and content. _It was just water. There was no way he was enjoying it that much! _My brow furrowed, hand trained to remain calmly wrapped around the cup of piping hot coffee.

'_I'm not gay.' _I thought, my eye twitching as his head continued to tilt back, sucking down the liquid with fervor. '_I'm not gay at all.'_

"I'm gonna work on my case, Kings. Call me if you get your dick stuck in a blender." I slipped away, dumping the remained of my drink in the trash as Kings watched me in confusion.

"_Was it something I said?" _His voice faded away, muffled by the elevator's closing doors. I scowled hard, staring as my silver reflection smoothed against the door's metallic surface. And from it, I made out the slightest flicker of Mabel in my features. Far less than everyone else could see, but just enough that I could see the resemblance.

'_You look feminine.' _One side said.

'_Go fuck yourself.' _The other side went.


	6. The Sweater

Elevator doors slid open, splitting my reflection in two as the expanse of a dim laboritory slowly came into view. I stepped out, peering ahead at what I had left behind the night before. The room was spacious, allowing for the placement of four slick black tables, as well as metal stools flipped on their faces against the counters' tops. Tall, curtained windows stretched against the walls to my left, while sinks and empty test tubes sat dormant and shaded to my right.

A coat rack stood outside the elevator; a humble carving with three wooden knobs poking out in every which way, as though offering to take my jacket no matter which direction I faced it. I took up the offer, sliding my brown bomber jacket from my shoulders to toss it over one of the knobs.

Just past the coat rack was an over worn and dulled-white light switch. With a simple flick brightness spread throughout the room. I strolled up to the table farthest left, scattered papers and photographs sprawled out before me, where most of my research was being done.

"_Alright_..." My hand went to scoop up a polaroid snapshot, circled and streaked with red marker. "_Let's see what we've got here_." I turned to my board, plastered with a multitude of pictures as well as string used to connect each scene. Yarn from Mabel's craft store worked to stretch from photo to photo, relating news paper articles to things as miniscule as muddy boot prints.

I looked down at the piece in my hands. A snapshot of 64 year old _Gary Figgers_' grave, dug up six nights ago, his bronchial tube missing. In any ordinary situation, this bit of information would have been useless. The perpetrater was steeling all _kinds _of organs. This all just seemed like a repeat.

But it was a bit more complicated. I had been given authority over the case nine days ago, meaning all confidential files had been released to me. At first, nothing within them really grabbed my attention. They seemed to be a mimick of what the news reports had already disclosed to the public.

'_Jessie Ripple: Body found drug out of coffin and probed. Pelvis removed.'_

_ 'Mike Gorvez: Body found drug out of coffin and probed. Sternum removed.'_

_ 'Richard Fulk: Body found drug out of coffin and probed. Vertebra removed.' _

It was dishearting to read the reports. A _literal _repeat. Whoever had written them up seemed more interested in their game of solitare than figuring out who this guy was. I scanned through the list once more, looking at what had been stolen.

_Stomach. Bladder. Hinge joints. A few ribs. Ulnas. A heart. Capillaries. Humerus. Ferums. Bile duct._

The names continued to mount, each desecration sprouting up in a seperate county. I contemplated the possibility of sacrifices, but they'd want the bodies warm for that sort of thing. Perhaps a strange fetish for mushy organs? In that case, why go around the state? Why not just hit it at one cemetary and dash? Maybe it was a beast, hungry for flesh. It'd eat the whole thing then, wouldn't it? And, why not a live snack while you're at it?

All of the information was too simple. The whole _case _sounded simple. And, oddly enough, that just made the motive harder to flesh out. For a while, at least.

I had been sitting on the couch last week, a cushioned mess of brown cloth and fluffy pillows, watching Mabel knit up a rainbow sweater.

"Who's this one for?" I leaned over the edge, my arms folded and draped casually over the couch's arm. She hummed a chipper tune, holding it out for her viewing pleasure.

"_Waddles_, of course!" Her eyes glittered, looking to me with pep as I nodded my head. "We're gonna be _matchies!"_

I laughed, looking at the thing, when something caught my eyes. The sweater was fat all right, large enough for myself to curl up into a ball and still have space. Waddles had grown several times since our adolescense, making him a chubby fool. So, the size itself didn't strike me as odd. However...

"Aren't those sleeves a bit... _long, _Mabel?" She stopped her humming, eyes cracking open at my comment. She peered down at the cloth, as though seeing it for the first time.

"..._Drats._" The sweater was Waddle's size, no doubt. But she had mistakenly sewn it up with human-length arms. It was a nice piece all the same, something Soos would have liked, but Mabel threw it out anyways.

"Hey, what are you doing? You can still fix it." I offered, walking towards the trash can to fish it out. Mabel slid infront of me, blocking my path.

"_Nope_." She said simply. "I've learned to _let go _of failed sweaters. The best thing to do is chuck it. Start from scratch, you know?"

"From _scratch.._?" I couldn't tell if she was being lazy or obsessing over the amelioration of her craft. "So, you're just gonna chuck it? I thought it looked nice." I shrugged.

"Well, now I can make something that looks even _more _nice!" With that, she moved away from me, rummaging through the hallway closet for her coat. "I'm gonna buy some more supplies. Get ready to have your mind _blown_!" She turned to me, beaming. A peck on the cheek, soft and loving as though to say '_thank you,' _before she slipped out of the apartment.

At first, I thought she was being silly. I spent that afternoon looking over my research, re-reading files, trying to sort out possible motives.

'_Why are they doing this? What could they possibly need those parts for? If they need them at all, that is...' _

I put on a pot of coffee, rumagging through the cabinets before deciding I wasn't hungry. I twiddled with the remote, contemplating possible updates on the crime, only to choose against it. I went to my room, pulling out two pens. One, I stuck between my teeth. The other, I began to write notes with.

_What _had been stolen. _Where _the parts had been stolen. _Who _they had been stolen from. Who they could have been stolen _by_.

I gnawed on the pen snapped between my molars, frustration beginning to build within me. A pop. The bitter soiling of ink over my taste buds. I retched at the flavor, dark saliva pooling at the corners of my mouth.

"_Ah, gross..."_ My tongue flicked the pen from its cavern, letting it fall into nimble fingers. I looked down at the busted ball point, scowling at the blatant marks I had left without notice. Mabel was always getting onto me for these sorts of things...

"_...Shit." _I grumbled, sauntering into the kitchen where I intented on disposing of it. That's where I found my answer.

Peering down, hidden beneath a used filter and ground coffee beans, was the sweater Mabel had thrown out. I paused for a moment, seeing the small mess I had made of her hard work, only to sigh and pull it out of the bin.

Bits of _Folgers_' coffee grounds still clung to its wool, smearing and entangling itself in the cloth's woven fibers. I bat my hand over it, combing away what lingered.

'_It really is a nice sweater...' _And it was. She definitely had a nack for anything artsy, something I never did. But, being that she did, she was also a perfectionist. Anything that didn't scream '_Mabel Pines' _was considered a flop on her part.

'_She threw it away... And was making a __**new **__one...'_

A new one...

_A new one..._

**A new one.**

"_Holy shit." _I sat the sweater down, pen flicked into the bin before I made my exit. I skid into my room, throwing myself onto my mattress before fishing out a laptop.

'_What organs are essential for a body'_

_ 'Human bone structure'_

_ 'Organs that you can live without'_

_ 'Counties in Oregon'_

I wrote it all out. Thirty-seven counties in Oregon. Twenty-seven labelled organs. Fourteen different bone structures, minus the six ribs and fibula bones that weren't essential. You could live without one of your _lungs_. Your _spleen_. Your _appendix_. Your _gall bladder_. Your _adenoids _and _tonsils_...

All items left without theft. For now at least. So far, the perpetrator had only been taking essential organs, like the heart and tranchea. Perhaps he'd stop along the way to pick at a few extra ribs, or maybe even a few lymph nodes. But, for the time being, he only touched the big stuff.

This guy wasn't trying to dig up _old _bodies. He was trying to build a _new _one.

I scanned the polaroid of _Gary Figgers _once more_, _looking from its slick surface to my conspiracy board. The laboratory was always so quiet in the mornings, making it crucial I got most of my thinking done before someone came to slam me with crime scene updates and daily reports.

The motive wasn't the only thing I had figured out. In the picture taken sometime last week, the documentation of Mr. Figgers' grave was depicted. However, the markings left from digging him up were odd.

Not wide excavations of earth by shovel. Instead, thin, shallow lines that road across the dirt, each about a foot long. The lines varied slightly in width. Some slender and small. Others more meaty and deep.

He was digging with his hands. And not just the perpetrator. This was a posse. A group effort, compiled of both large and petite hands, male and female. Perhaps a cult? Some radical satanists bent on reincarnating the Anti-Christ? I had run into a few of those, but they had seemed so much more organized before. They even brought shovels.

These people seemed to be doing it in the spur of the moment, digging with their hands. It was sloppy, really. Kind of awkwardly done. I wasn't sure what kind of people were doing this, but they sounded pretty crazy. Or at least stupid.

I looked to the calender on my wall, bright red '_Xs_' crossing over every day before this one. And, in two days time, I had circled _'Saturday.'_ As fate would have it, the culprit's trail was slowly snaking towards my home in Roadkill county. I had a hunch we'd be their last stop.

'_Two days.' _I thought. They'd most likely be here in two days.

I turned around, once again facing my board. The photo was pinned up, linked to a picture of red mud and a clip-on nail half sunken in the dirt.

"See you then."


	7. Saturday

We drove along the dark highway, burnt yellow street lamps singeing black tar as we went. The inner layout of our car radiated with dots of electric blues and reds from the speed-o-meter, radio, and everything else up front. The vehicle was relatively clean within, aside from a few empty coffee cups and the little Mr. Mystery bobble head that swayed back and forth on the dash.

My hands remained snapped around the steering wheel, straight down the road at 45 mph. I considered finding a radio station. Perhaps listen to a mystery podcast or tune into a news report. Find my next case once this one was finally settled.

"Can I play something?" Mabel beat me to the punch, sliding her phone out of her pants pocket as she worked to untangle the aux cord. I said nothing, only shifting my gaze downwards as she worked to pull up a song.

'Jack Stauber'

'Kane Strang'

'Mother Mother'

'Oliver Tree'

'Silicon Estate'

She scrolled past my few favorites, preferring her selection of Korean boy bands and British pop.

"Mabel, please don't." I groaned, knitting my brows together in annoyance. I reached out to snatch the cord, only for it to move farther away.

"Ah-ah-ah!" She smiled, forcing me to pull back as she wagged a finger. "You're the one that wanted me to tag along."

"Yeah, well you're the one that used to call us the 'mystery twins.'" I faced forward, features hardening as I fought off the urge to scowl.

Oddly enough, Mabel had grown out of being in constant peril. Something about solving mysteries and being chased by monsters of unimaginable horror just wasn't her cup of tea. It wasn't as easy anymore to say, 'Come on, Mabel. We're trudging through the forest at two AM with our flashlights to summon El Diablo. Parental supervision? Hm… Nah.'

As out of character as it seemed, she had a job. A really nice job at that. And a lot of friends. Friends that liked hanging out with her and stealing our time together. It was hard enough with the hours I put in doing my job to see her. The most interaction we got was in the mornings. We didn't have 'free time.' And, even if we did, Mabel didn't feel like spending it poured over ancient texts and wasting six hours crouched behind bushes and trees. That was my thing.

So, we were often bargaining with each other. I'd go to a Vocaloid concert, spend a couple of hours squished between middle aged Otakus and middle school girls, if it meant taking Mabel monster hunting the following week. I had saved up my points, partaking in karaoke instead of bars and rom coms instead of horrors, just to get her to come along.

"I thought you hated being 'mystery twins.'" She giggled, plugging in the aux. I groaned again, being met with the unflattering garble of lyrics and off tempo instrumentals. I twisted the radio's dial, turning the volume way down as she began to jam in her seat.

"So-" She started, grooving along to her third song, shoulders rolling as she did the cabbage patch in her seat. "You never told me what happened on your date-"

My foot slammed into the breaks, forcing her body to lurch forward with a surprised yelp.

"We're here." I said simply, unbuckling my seat belt. Mabel looked at me incredulously, taken aback by my obvious avoidance of the question. She blinked owlishly, only to snap out of it and unbuckle herself. She'd interrogate me later.

We stepped out of the car, a joint shiver going down our spines. Low, chilled mist hung before our feet, mirroring bits of moon light with haunting intent. Graves stuck out of the dirt in dusted slabs of marble and fieldstone, rotting tulips of condolence lying before them. Ravens, black and shaded beneath the night sky, sat perched atop a local church, lights off and entrances hushed.

My fingers ghosted along the hard leather of my holster, an authorized handgun nestling within its confines. I took a breath, peering at Mabel who sported a spare bullet proof vest, her grappling hook held as though a gun of her own.

Not that it was of any significance, but she was technically classified as a civilian. Meaning she was technically not supposed to be wearing police-authorized substance because she was technically not allowed to solve crimes with me anymore since she technically didn't work for the 'GFPD.' Which meant I could technically get fired for this. I held the breath in, steadying my heart beat before letting it out with a huff.

"Let's wait behind the gravestones." I whispered, guiding her to the far end of the field. We crouched behind a Mr. and Mrs. 'Krepner," our backs leaning against the sturdy blocks of marble.

"Alright." My hands went out before me, fingers extended as I readied the plan for her. "The perpetrators should be here in a few hours. We'll wait for them to dig up the body and catch them in the act. When we do, I'll hold them at gunpoint while you pretend to also have a gun. With luck, they'll be caught off guard and we can haul them in without a struggle. It should be a cinch."

"Cool, bro. And then what?" Mabel leaned in, slightly intrigued.

"I'll have to read them their rights." I said.

"And then?" She repeated with emphasis. I frowned at her statement, but complied.

"They'll go on trial and I'll have to testify against them."

"Yeah, alright. But then what?" She rolled her eyes, goading me to give her something kick ass to do, like pull a tombstone piledriver on the guy. I became impatient.

"They'll go to jail and drop the soap." I quickly turned sardonic, much to Mabel's dismay. Her head tilted back, eyes snapping shut in frustration.

"Ughhhhhhhh whaaaaat-?!" She whined. I grimaced, slapping either of my hands over her mouth.

"Mabel!" I hissed, my brows furrowing. Mabel's muffled speech bounced against my palms, but remained otherwise silent. After a moment, I removed my hands.

"Dipper…!" She groaned. "You didn't tell me this was gonna be boring!" She began to move as though she were contemplating getting up. She would do that sometimes if things didn't hold her attention. Like when I tried getting her to watch Monty Python. She pretty much disappeared by the intro. I'm not sure what part of her thought it was okay to flake out now, though.

"Mabel, I swear to Jesus…" My voice was cautious, though edged with a serious warning. This wasn't the time to mess around and quit when she felt like it, and I knew she knew that. It wasn't like I would actually do anything to her, but I could damn well be scary enough to convince her otherwise. I had gotten pretty good at bluffing revenge.

Her face seemed to squint at me, a mix of uncertainty and blunt vexation. A moment more, and she sat back onto her knees.

"I wasn't gonna do anything…" She scoffed, only to add "Jerk." That's how the next two hours were spent, Mabel curled into herself, muttering little insults and half-apologize at me while I took periodic glances over 'Mr. Krepner's' headstone. Once in a while, I'd sigh and look up at the moon, seriously questioning my career choice, only to hear twigs snapping or leaves rustling and be completely pulled back into the thrill.

Around four AM, I could tell Mabel was about to crash… I really hoped I hadn't been wrong about tonight.

"Mabel." I whispered, jostling her shoulder. Her head snapped up with a groggy jolt, drool sliding down the side of her lip.

"Huh?" Her eyes were lidded, drooping with obvious drowsiness.

"Lie down in the car. I'll keep a look out from the field."

"But what about…" Her head began to tilt, eyes closing.

"Hey." I snapped my fingers, coercing her back to consciousness. "If they show up, you can catch them from behind while I target the front." She looked at me for a moment, not awake enough to sort out my words instantly.

"O...kay." Her head sloshed to the side, looking over the tombstones with a comical little peek, only to force herself to her feet as she trudged her way to the car. She pulled out the keys, pressing a button that lit the mobile up at her approach, and I couldn't help but hiss at the brightness of it all. I had no doubt she had fallen asleep the second her face hit the car cushions.

That was when I heard the voices.

"Pst. The coast is clear. Wake up, guys." Came a smug, young voice. I tensed, impelling myself to remain still. Shock coursed through my veins, a rigid gasp just barely pinned down within my gut. They had been here all along. My hand went to my holster to reassure myself of the bit of power I would have over them. Slow, cautious steps came from within the graveyard's local church, switching from the clipped march across wooden flooring to the slick crunch of dew-ridden grass.

I hoped they wouldn't see me before their intentions could be confirmed. I dared myself to suck in a shallow breath. Leaning beyond the stones, I made out the simple tufts of reddened hair. Although that was all I could see, I knew he wasn't alone.

"Alrighty, then. Who's picking this one?" Said the voice. The subtle rubbing of hands together could be heard. An excited gasp escaped one of them.

"Oh! Me! Me! Me!" One of them chirped. A collective 'shush' was pointed at them.

"Not so loud, dumbass. The cop's right there!" My heart seemed to plummet, only to realize who they were talking about.

They must have thought Mabel was one… No way in Hell. I couldn't help but smile to myself, peeking at them with mild confidence as I got a better look. This one was a girl. Around 5'4. Probably seventeen or eighteen. Sturdy, but most-likely slow. From the way she trotted, she was also visibly tired. That probably meant they all were.

"This one, guys! Let's do this one!" She pointed at a grave, giggling helplessly at the tombstone. "Look at what their name was! Hee-hee!"

"Mr. Butts?!" One of them blurted out. The group quickly surrounded it, snickering and making half-assed jabs. I could definitely add 'dim witted' to their description. The laughter eventually died down, and the low shifting of bodies on dirt followed. Scratching. The collective scratching of dirt and squishing of mud and ripping of roots as a dozen hands began to dig the body up. I relaxed a bit, knowing they'd be at it for a while.

"Shit! Another nail…" One of the girls whined.

"Will you zip it already?"

"Oh, screw you Liam. It's not like you'd understand." My ears perked up. 'Liam.' That was one name down.

"What's wrong with you? Got mud up your cooter?" The slinging of mud followed, causing 'Liam' to gasp.

"What the fuck, Kim?! I was just joking. Sheesh…"

'Kim.' There was the second one. I sighed softly, slipping down against the grave as time passed. They became absorbed in their work, only letting out small groans and grumbles of protest. The night moved on, fatigue and impatience sinking in despite myself. Without knowing it, I was beginning to drift away, only for the unmistakable thumb of a body hitting thick mud to startle me back to life.

"Finally… Jesus Christ, this was an ugly dude."

"Ugh. No kidding. He looks like an over-ripe squash." I began to lean on my elbow, trying to get a look at what the group was seeing, only to be met with backs blocking my view. Then, the glint of metal against moonlight. I was confused, seeing one of the boys hold what looked to be a silver strip of metal in his right hand, hoisted up and bare. It wasn't until they bent down that I understood what they were holding.

'That's a knife…'

"GFPD, put your hands in the air!" I jumped up from behind the gravestone, gun in hand, pointed directly at the group ahead of me. The teens snapped their heads at me, both shocked and afraid, only to stand and block my view of the body.

"Shit! Liam, speed it up!" One of the girls shouted, turning her head to speak over her shoulder. I grimaced, knowing exactly what he was doing.

"Step away from the body, kids." I let out firmly, my eyes hardening. I tried my hardest not to let on that I was shaking. There was no way in hell I was shooting a bunch of highschoolers. Not with lethal intent, at least. They remained planted before me, their fear quickly turning into hatred.

"Who you calling kids? You don't even look ten years old."

"Yeah, you fucking cop. Why don't you go eat a donut, dumb bitch?" They laughed. I looked at them stone faced, aiming just above one of their heads and firing off my gun as a warning. They screamed, ducking down.

"Asshole!" One shouted.

"Hurry it up, Liam!" I held myself back, only restrained by the possibility of a concealed weapon among the group. They couldn't be so dumb that they'd actually come without some kind of fire arm, right? The hold up lasted for only a few seconds, though it felt much longer. Soon, Liam was bouncing to his feet, body drenched to the forearms in transparent fluids. I couldn't help but scowl.

"What the hell even…?" The guy didn't look disturbed by his own appearance, nor did any of his team mates shy away from his form as he slipped ahead of the group.

"Evening, officer!" And with that, he tried to play it off like nothing had happened. I almost laughed at his stupidity. He smiled awkwardly, sweat dripping down his face as he lifted a shaky hand to wave at me. I decided to play along.

"It's a bit late for a couple of teenagers to be wandering out at night, don't you think?" I tried not to crack a smile, but by the way this guy was relaxing, I couldn't help myself. He really thought I was that dumb.

"Oh, is it?" He feigned innocent, and for a moment I wondered if he even knew that his crimes were so well known. I guess a kid like him wouldn't keep up with the news. "I hadn't noticed." This time, I did laugh.

"What are you holding behind your back?" I smirked at him, my head cocked to the side with a smug tilt. Liam paled.

"N-nothing! Nothing at all, officer-"

"Show me your hands."

"Well… Well, put your gun down."

"You first." He gulped, eyes going to stare at his own feet.

"Don't shoot me…" With that, he pulled it out from behind him.

Holy shit.

A head. A whole fucking head, held up by the tufts of its thin hair. They had been right to call it an 'over-ripe squash.' Its head was like a bowling pin, pulled in at the middle and sagging everywhere else. Long, rotted teeth sprouted gapped along spoiled grey gums. An open mouth, hanging wide in perpetual anguish as the cheek skin continued to stretch and pull.

Paled-pink flesh seemed to be dotted red around the cheeks, as though an open casket funeral could be saved by the use of cheap blush and eyelashes. I couldn't tell if it was a deformed baby head or what those 'real cost of vaping' commercials were warning everyone about, but the thing was bat-shit ugly.

"Please, don't shoot me…" Liam said again, louder this time. I had been so shocked by the head, I forgot where I was for a moment. I looked at the boy, his face vacant and almost unaware of his surroundings. But I knew. I knew this was an act. If he couldn't get away with defiling a grave, he could at least plead insanity.

'Oh please don't do it Mr. Judge it was the voices in my head.'

I growled at him. "Put the head down. Hands up." I made it apparent I had no sympathy for him or any of his accomplices. This shit was disgusting. Liam's lip twitched, staring at me for a bit too long. He turned to look at his friends, all of whom had the same expression: Blank. His eyes shifted back towards me, a primal conflict of 'Fight or Flight' distorting his features.

"Don't shoot my friends."

"Put the damn head down, Liam." He froze, looking at me like I had said something funny. A smile began to break out across his face.

"Yeah…" Liam said. "Okay." The head fell to the ground with a sickening thud, causing me to cringe at the sight.

I could feel the corner of my lips tug up in a sneer. He dropped it like a sack of potatoes. I chanced a step forward, my eyes remaining trained on him and his group, only to see his hand slip into the front pocket of his hoodie.

"Hey!" I barked, instantly thrown off by the subtle action.

That was all it took.

Liam's leg pulled back, looking at me in concentration before bringing his foot forward and making contact with the head. It was a powerful kick, lifting it off the ground and hurling it straight at me. It was a pathetic attempt at distracting me, forcing me to falter and giving them time to break away. Any other day, it wouldn't have worked.

But my nerves were shot. I had been up all night, crouching. Waiting. Completely wound up and pumped with adrenaline. My hand was going to pull the trigger, and I was going to shoot something. I just couldn't force myself to make it one of them.

Bang!

My gun was pointed right at the head, causing it to spin in mid air as a loose bullet smacked into it. I shot the head. Like a complete fucking idiot, I shot it. I watched in shock, anxiety and disturbance crawling along my skin, as the head slid against the ground to lie at my feet.

Its left eye had been shot out.

And, just as I looked up, the boy made his move to reach into his front hood. I couldn't speak, fumbling to bring my gun back in place between sweating palms. Just as I did though, he pulled it out. A thin, stony noodle arm, broken off and held firmly between his hands. I couldn't help but freeze.

'Is that…?' In one swift motion, Liam chucked the arm right at me, making flawless contact with my head.

Everything went dark afterwards.


	8. A-X-O-L-O-T-L

"... Make sure they're tight. We don't want him breaking loose…"

Darkness engulfed my mind, the aching pain of my skull muffled into a soft throb as I floated through nothingness. Distant voices crawled along the space above my head, though garbled and incoherent. My thoughts wavered like a boat over sharp waves. Tilting one way. Leaning the other. It was like I was dreaming.

"... the circle…"

"... Light... candles…"

"... Bi… pher…"

I was numbly aware of my body lifting from a seat, hoisted by hairy arms, before being plopped down on hard concrete. My eyelids refused to open, confusion leaving me lost within the confines of my own subconscious. Hands worked to pull me into a sitting position, the chill of their palms channeling a portion of my consciousness back into me. Steadying me.

I focused on their fingertips, moving from under my arms to over either shoulder as my head began to tilt. It started out slow, my mind straining to regain its sense of understanding as the grainy shock of blacking out slowly slid from me. I became aware of a rough pinching at my wrists, course and prickly with every twist they made around them.

'...Rope.' I thought. My hands were pressed behind me, bound, itching to rotate and flex against the growing discomfort. My brow furrowed, using the slight pain as an added boost of focus. I took a slow breath, forcing myself to be flung farther into awareness.

"Should we wake him…?" Questioned a voice.

I concentrated on the whispery tones of young adults contemplating. Debating. Worrying.

"I'd love to see the look on his face…"

"But he might break out…"

"It doesn't matter. He's got nowhere to run..."

"Well, what does **he** think we should do…?"

In the mists of their consultation, a sharp pain shot up my spine, flinging my senses into action. It was like my mind finally snapped out of it, awake and fully aware of the ripping pulse that bounced through my skull. I hissed, torso lurching forward as my expression soured. The throbbing discomfort felt far greater than before, my mind able to process 100% of the pain. The teens stepped back.

"... Ow." I groaned, my head lowering as waves of pain continued to flow over me. There was a pause throughout the room, the teens looking at each other with knowing grins before turning to smirk at me.

"Well! Good morning, officer!" Came the leader with his arms crossed. "How was your nap?" I cringed at his volume, my headache only flaring up as he went.

Surprisingly, they didn't badger me with taunts and names right off the bat, but instead waited for me to fully recover. I heard one, snickering as he did so, flex his finger against the flint wheel of a lighter. A moment more, and he was setting the tip of his cigarette ablaze. That was when I realized where I was.

My head lolled to the side, viewing the teens that stood before me with rubbery grins. The room, I realized, was dark, illuminated only by the soft glow of candle lights. Orange smeared into yellow, crawling against metal walls of what looked to be a warehouse. My eyes rolled upwards, seeing rows among rows of skylights beyond metal beams stretched along the ceiling.

Bits of sky and star met my gaze against the eventual rise of sun, giving off the appeal of dusk. A soft blue, not nearly bright enough to reach the floor far below, seemed to loom above with reassurance.

"Feeling alright there, chap?" The boy with the cigarette mused, trying with all his might to sound cool against the smoke's bite. It didn't work. He choked on the steam, mouth pressing into elbow as he concealed a heavy cough. My mood lifted just slightly, despite myself.

"Peachy." I tested, waging how far I could go before the pain sprung up again. "First time smoking?" The scowl on his face said it all.

Even as a convict, he wanted to make a good impression on the cop they had just kidnapped. To look cool in front of the girls. In front of an adult. He was an idiot. And, if his team was on the same page, something told me they all were. I began to doubt they were even the ones pulling the strings… The boy grumbled, sneering as he yanked the stick from his lips to be flicked at my feet.

A bit of smoke rose from the roll, hardly even burnt a third of the way. I looked back at him, an unimpressed expression as he walked up to Liam and smacked the package into his waiting palm.

"Hey, don't discourage him. He'll learn." Said Liam, sliding the pack into his hoodie's front pocket. He smiled a bit wider than I'd like, breaking from the group to crouch before me. "And so will you."

I said nothing, viewing his features against an unflattering light. His expression was smeared, damped and drained by the dark shadow of his brow. His face was exaggerated and unpleasantly melted by the burnt tinge of apricot that crept beyond him, cheek bones pointed and jaw flexed. Where was that light coming from?

My eyes shifted from Liam's, looking beyond his kneeling form to see what was behind. Candles, lit and dripping wax to lie pooled at the sticks, were positioned to create a gaping circle. Large, white chalk etchings stretched within it. Two lines starting at one point, diverging and hitting the opposite sides of the circle before coming back together with a single line.

A triangle.

I bit back a shiver. My eyes strained, taking note of what looked to be a sleeping bag chucked in the center of the candles. Dark green, fat, and snapped shut with a zipper like bear teeth. I viewed it curiously, cocking a small brow its way. But, as I did, something became disturbingly potent to my senses: The smell.

My nose shriveled up in repulsion, the hot burn of rotting flesh all that flooded my nostrils and windpipe. I choked, coughing once as I forced myself to continue breathing it in, no matter how badly I wanted to wretch. I hadn't seen it at first. But after the smell hit me, it was impossible to ignore: Long, dried strands of thin black hair spilling from between the bag's teeth, entangled and snapped within the confines of metal jaws, spotted and oily with bodily fluids and crumbs of dirt.

My stomach dropped, blood draining as I shrank back.

The stolen parts.

"… What is this…?" I caught myself, steadying my tongue before a stutter could pass me.

'Who is this body for...?'

Liam chuckled, leaning in on me. He was a slim boy, lanky and awkwardly fitted in the hoodie that didn't hug his wrists. And, with a white complexion against crimson pimples, he looked ogreish up close. I cringed away from his breath, the smoldering rot of decay and plaque passing his lips as he spoke.

"Mr. Pines." Liam cooed in a smug tone. I clammed up, watching the cracked lips that formed my name. My name.

He knew my name.

My fingers went cold, rope cutting into my bloodstream as I leaned back on my cramped up knuckles. He continued to lean in until our noses were almost pressing together.

"Have you ever met God?" The boy mused, pupils seeming to bounce as he spoke.

I would have laughed at his question if he weren't so creepy. My father was a catholic. My mother was Jewish. If my home life hadn't been a turf war of Christmas trees and menorahs from birth, maybe I could have answered it more directly. Or, maybe I would just be a smartass.

"Which one?" I asked, steeling myself as he grinned.

"Oh!" He purred in delight, wringing his fingers together in a sort of satisfaction. "The best one!" Liam pulled away from me, rising to his feet and turning around. He walked into the circle of lit candles, extending his arms to draw attention to his team's craftsmanship. I leaned onto my knees, chest lifting as I examined the creation more closely.

"This-" His voice became very prideful. "-is what we've been working towards since day one! It's pretty damn cool, don't you think? You see, our God's not like the one they teach about in church. This one's fucking awesome!"

I bit back the urge to make a snide remark, sure that anything retaining to their deity would result in his riling up. However, the instance he even mentioned it, his group seemed to tumble after in enthusiasm.

"He promised me a nice rack!" One of the girls piped up, puffing out her chest as she did so.

"I was promised more popularity!" Came another.

"He said I'd get into my dream college!"

"I was told I'd be rich as a king!"

"He said he'd get revenge on that bitchy 'Amy Darwins' in my economics class!"

Their voices continued to rise, contempt and excitement building within each one as their individual greed became known. Hands began to raise. Feet began to stomp. Long, thin shadows danced against the walls as they swirled about each other, praising their deity with ruthless devotion. I felt my throat tighten, watching their enthusiasm flair and die and flair again.

They were unstable as Hell. Barefooted, dancing, howling with praise, and spoiled by delusional wants and desires. Not to mention they were teenagers.

Their hands linked with one another, clasping into a second circle within the confines of the first one. My mouth began to dry up, watching them surround the stuffed sleeping bag. Little peeps of excited giggles and squeaks passed among themselves, taking periodic glances over their shoulders to make I was watching.

Oh, yes. I was watching. How the ladies swayed in place, curling their toes in anticipation. The boys, smirking at one another and rocking on the balls of their heels. They were about to do something big. The noise rose and fell several times, adrenaline still buzzing throughout the group, before Liam cleared his throat. They became silent, turning to watch him gleefully.

"Let's show our friend-" He smirked at me. "What we're all about!"

It was a simple thing, hands clasped in the group's warped game of 'ring-around-the-rosey', as he moved his left foot over his right, forcing his friends to follow in suit. They were tugged along, smiling as they did so, slowly turning and spinning as a collection around the stolen parts. It looked like a children's game. A sick, dark, demented game.

They twirled around it, still holding each other's hands, only for Liam to shout out a simple letter.

"A!" He boomed, causing an outcry of cheers and approval as he went. The candle to the left of him flickered out, only to come back to life as a blue flame. My eyes widened.

"Hey!" My shoulders jolted instinctively, trying to pull myself to my feet. They started to spin faster.

"X!" Came the girl to his right. Another candle. Out. And then, blue. My mind raced, watching the ritual unfold. I tugged at my bound wrists, gritting my teeth against the burning pain of little bristles attacking me. My feet kicked out, frustration bubbling over as I groaned helplessly. The ropes were tight.

"O!" My head shot up, seeing the room break from the soft glow of orange to the cold twist of a frosted sea. Just a little more, the space seemed to darken. Although the blue flames burned brighter, blackness only seemed to thicken and pool.

"L!" Again, cries of joy and encouragement. But, within it, I heard the subtle dripping of substance. Some kind of liquid. Thicker, and more malleable than water. My eyes darted to in between the swirling, dragging feet of chittering teens, to peer at the green bag.

And there it was. The little hairs that stuck out of the bag, long and slender, were oozing. Not oily or wet with bodily fluids like before. Secreting. Sliding along the thin strands came this black ink that built up at the base, slide halfway down the line, and plopped to the floor in fat drops of gothic slime.

"Don't-!" Panic quickly overtook me. This wasn't a game anymore. These kids were actually doing this. Something was happening. The next boy jumped in to cut me off.

"O!" A jolt from the bag, like a baby in the womb. The crowd went absolutely ballistic. Over half the candles were blue. The room was sinking deeper and deeper into darkness, and the ink was no longer just from the hair. It soaked into the bag's fibers and leaked out onto the floor. Like trickles of blood, the fluid rolled along the cement in thick lines, only to be danced upon and savored between paled and worshiping toes.

"T!" Sloshing could be heard from within. There was definitely a body in there, and they were squishing around and swimming in their own goop like a cocooned butterfly. Bile rose in me, though I managed a yelp as the ink slid near, almost reaching the cuff of my pant leg before yanking it away.

"You're making a mistake!" I made one final, violent yank at the ropes, seeing the last flame that remained a pleasant pumpkin shade among the ocean that was so close to drowning it. I gulped, being met once again with the resistance of woven strands.

The last teenager, a petite blonde with her hair up, wore the biggest smile. She was the final one. The finale. Whatever it was they intended on bringing to life, she had been bestowed the great honor of finalizing it. My stomach dropped. Her mouth began to open, soft pink lips only halted by her overwhelming pulse of adrenaline. She roared with a quick fit of laughter, hesitating only slightly before she could speak.

And that was all it took.

A muffled sound. The screeching of tires against road. The growing volume of an engine, growling and vibrating as fuel was burned. The girl paused, acknowledging the noise, turning in the direction of the sound. I only had a moment, my head snapping to the right side of the warehouse, viewing the chained up double doors, before the unmistakable bang of a car against metal was heard. The double doors gave way instantly, snapping off their hinges as a red sedan burst through.

The girl's mouth twitched in shock, screaming as all the others did, jumping out of the way before the vehicle could slam into their little circle. Hands separated. Candles were snuffed out. The room became completely dark aside from the car's headlights and whatever bit of sun had begun to peak past the Earth's horizon.

I saw a few of the teens on their hands and knees, having just barely made it out of the way in time. Others were pressed against the wall, staring at the four wheeler in disbelief. And I was sure I wore the most goofy expression of admiration and gratitude, watching her kick open the car's door and stumble out, partially shaken by the crash.

"Mabel!" I beamed, my body only working harder to break free and greet her. Mabel, however, was in a completely different state.

"Oh- Whoa..." She put her hand to her head, wincing as her feet stumbled over metal and debris and sticky ink. "We need air bags..."

I only smiled at her, watching her wobble and kneel behind me. Her fingers fumbled, slipping between the course twists of rope to release me.

"I told you so." The ropes were off in seconds, angry red skin ripped and torn at the wrists there to greet me. I groaned. I stood up slowly, making a smug show of brushing my shoulders of dust and rubble sprayed over me by her entrance. The teens stared blankly, swallowed by bits of dirt in the air and shock.

"Oh? Surprised he brought backup? Yeah, that's right! What whaaaat!" Mabel taunted in a sing song tone, pointing to herself with such self satisfaction that I rolled my eyes reflexively. Being as it may, I still couldn't resist the smirk that ghosted my lips.

Mabel wasn't much for following the law, and she wasn't much for intimidation. But, when it came to saving my ass at the last second, I could always count on her. Always.

I looked to the belt around her waist, a custom made 'grappling hook holster' I had tailored for her several Christmases past. She wore it with pride, fingers slipped around the trigger, ready to pull it out and point it cockily. But, against the dark lighting and misleading shadows cast by headlights, I could tell she was bluffing a much more dangerous weapon in her possession.

One of the boys, I saw, began to lean against the wall and slide his way back up to his feet. Mabel twitched, turning to him with fake hostility, jiggling the end of her grappling hook to more openly bluff a gun. He jumped, only to plop back onto his bum. I looked at her in good humor, making sure not to laugh against our shared grin. They had been caught.

At least, I thought so.

"...L." Came a small, female groan. There, among the heavier bits of rubble and rock, was the blonde with her hair up, half buried under the mess of concrete and sawdust. From the weakness of her tone, I almost feared Mabel had run over her. She rolled off of her back onto her hip bone, elbow propped up as she stared at me, grimacing as she went. Her eyes began to water. Desperation was painted on her features, brow pinched and lip trembling as she drew in a breath.

"**L**!" She cried, clenching her fists. Mabel and I stumbled back instinctively, looking at her with both shock and confusion. The room became silent, lifeless as the green bag that had stopped wiggling and leaking since the circle was broken. The pause she let pass seemed only to wait. To anticipate. To expect a reaction. So strange.

At first, there was nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just the soft cursing on teenagers and the shifting up debris and periodic rubbing of metal hooks against Mabel's holster. I sighed, both relieved and conflictingly disappointed. But then, all at once, there was something.

Snuffed out candles burst to life. All seven of them, a proud blue even while burning upon tipped over candle sticks or wax that had broken from the base of metal holders. The green bag, bumped off to the side by the car's front right wheel, began to writhe again. Like a rodent's popped belly on the side of the road, infested with wiggling, starving maggots.

My arm shot up in front of Mabel, backing us away from the thing before something could happen. A shriek of erratic cheering and chanting snapped my mind away for a moment, though my sister continued to stare in pale disbelief at the soiled, putrid bag now soaked in the inky substance. Black. The bag became black, squirming and squelching to invoke a sort of trepidation.

"He's here!" Cried Liam. "Our lord and savior, **Bill**, is finally here!" My body went cold. I couldn't form the right words, watching the teenagers once again dance and sing, separated from us by the black, sticky worm that squirmed between us. I couldn't feel the tips of my fingers as my hand ghosted over my hip bone, searching in vain for the holster I knew they had removed while I was unconscious.

I was unable to blink, eyes dried and blown wide, afraid even one glance away would result in earth shattering consequences. And, as a coal-black finger slipped beyond the bag's dripping teeth to unzip itself, I was quickly overwhelmed with a sense of despair. This wasn't happening. Against my body's own warnings, I forced my feet to move.

My shoulders hunched back, fists clenched as I focused on the slow, drawn out purr of zipped teeth parting. I made three steps, Mabel's hands stuttering to keep me in place, only for the loud bark of a bullet to mark the floor before my feet. I looked to the cement, a slender, metal shell half-dug into the ground. Then, I looked up, Liam holding my gun between confident hands.

The shot had missed. It was a perfect warning to stay away. But, by the way he held the gun so blithely, I knew it was out of pure inexperience that he had missed his targets. Nonetheless, it was an open remark, telling us how little hesitation he had.

"Oh!" He said. "Looks like you're in a real pickle!" His heels seemed to click, smile stretched wide and pridefully as he moved forward. He was closer now, barrel directed at my chest just a few feet away.

"... Listen... This isn't what you think it is. Whatever he promised you, it's not gonna turn out how you imagined it. He's a demon." My voice came out in breaths, uneven and shaken by paranoia and regret. I should have called for backup. I should have told people where I was heading tonight. I shouldn't have dragged Mabel along.

He got closer still, stepping in front of the dripping hand that slipped out of the bag to the forearm. The zipper was half way done, and so the form worked to slip out sluggishly.

"God! See? It's that kind of outlook that just doesn't get you anywhere!" He scoffed, looking me up and down with naked disappointment. "Listen, doll face: He offered me everything! Do you know what that means for a guy like me? It means babes! Fortune! Fame! Power!"

The body slipped out just the top of its head.

"You know how often a chance like this comes along? NEVER! Ha! You hear that? I'll never have this chance again! Demon or not, that thing's a God to me!"

Its shoulder blades slipped free, bag slowly sliding down its back.

"I didn't have shit before him! I was just a pathetic, weak, ugly white kid caught up in a world of hotties. Talk about unfair! This world is unfair!"

It rose onto its hands, legs sliding out with the skin-crawling drag of flesh.

"So what if I bumped a couple of rules?!" I became very aware of his proximity, his aim on the target much clearer now. He was going to shoot. "Cops like you wouldn't understand!"

A black, inky figure dripping darkness came to its feet, chest just an inch from the boy.

My mouth opened, letting out the hesitant mutter of someone who wasn't sure whether or not to say something. He seemed unaware that his 'God' had awoken.

"I'm gonna be everything in this world! And some low life pigs aren't gonna be there to shit all over my plans!"

It opened its mouth, wider than anything I had seen before. Eyes still closed, jaw seeming to dislocate at will, the image presented was something out of a nightmare. Its mouth was lined with rows among rows of sharp teeth, followed by the never ending abyss of infinite darkness.

He swallowed Liam whole.

It was over so quickly. I wasn't even sure if it had happened at all. But, I knew better than that. There, standing before us, was the dripping silhouette of ink, molded and reborn will the design of maleness. Fingers. Toes. A navel. But, no face. No nose. No lips.

Only eyes.

I shook with dread, Mabel's hand working frantically to interlace our fingers for support. The chill was no longer just mine. It road down my spine, to my gut, up my chest, through my arm, and transferred to her. We shook together.

Slowly, closed black lids opened. I prayed to myself. I prayed that this had all been some kind of misunderstanding. That 'Bill' wasn't the Bill we knew. That this... thing... wasn't who I thought he was. This wasn't Bill. This isn't Bill.

A yellow, slitter cat eye peered at me through the warehouse's darkness.

"...No." I paled. The figure stared at me all the while, skin seeming to stretch into a smile where his lip-less mouth was.

"Oh... **Yes**!" Came a garbled, distorted groan of inhuman speech. It seemed to bounce off the walls, vibrating through metal and coming back at us with a smack. Distorted and chaotic, his tone was like electricity. The thing placed a hand to the side of his face, pulling away to feel the stickiness of black on his figure. He laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed.

And laughed.

And, looking right at me, I made out the faintest bit of tongue slipping out and rolling over the corners of his mouth, like licking his lips. He was... hungry.

"Run!" Was all I heard from Mabel, turning to drag me alongside her. It was only when the eye contact was broken that chaos was unleashed. It ran after us. Jaw unlatched and teeth bared. And, why wouldn't he? We were fuel to solidify his new form.

This was a common result. The teens hadn't been aware, but most of these things required several sacrifices. It was like an offering. The body was new. Unstable. Lanky and starving. Creating a vessel took more than just the parts. It took energy. Human energy. Like a newborn baby, breastfeeding before it can move up to solid foods. Once he had his fill, the body will regulate itself and transition over to eating normal food. But, for the time being...

The teenagers seemed to be completely detached from the situation at hand, celebrating and hooting as we were chased. Like Liam hadn't been eaten. Like this thing wasn't still hungry. Like they weren't all about to die.

We raced hand in hand to the car, slamming into the edge of metal before yanking open the passenger's door. I slid in, Mabel climbing over me to get into the driver's seat. In most cases, she was the last person to let behind the wheel.

Her attention span was short. Her turns were sharp. She drove way over the speed limit, and never used her turn signals. It was almost impossible to teach her how to drive, and was considered a public hazard on the road.

But, she was one hell of a getaway driver.

Those sharp turns cut her time in half. She had amazing control when speeding down the road at 80 mph. And that short attention span had her mind constantly snapping around. She could make on-the-spot decisions instantaneously. I buckled up, just as the figure came to a halt in front of us.

"Yeah! Get 'em, Bill!" Hollered one of the boys. The thing twitched, turning to look at who had spoken. That came as a huge surprise to me, seeing its back. Bill's back. He had stared at us so intensely, all I could imagine was how badly he wanted revenge.

And yet, seeing the boy much closer, much more exposed and vulnerable than we were, he turned away without a second of hesitation. Quickly, Bill's target changed, and the boy barely had a chance to blink before he was bleeding from the throat. Teeth sinking in, jaw wrapped around his neck, his voice of praise snapping into one of confusion and fear.

His lips dribbled with blood, eyes rolling into the back of his head. The boy was dead within seconds. I heard Mabel scream, coupled by the shrieks of everyone else. They had finally seen it, the demon before them ravaged in blood and gore and empty hunger.

Somehow, this seemed to be my first moment of understanding. Curiosity, and not fear. I was almost intrigued. This wasn't Bill. Not yet, anyways. It was something... primitive. Unintelligible. Predatorial. Driven by the urge to consume and grow. In a way, he had just been born, and his form hadn't yet matured. He was still developing, meaning that his new brain hadn't transferred his knowledge yet.

He didn't recognize us.

He didn't remember anything yet.

He was attacking at random.

Mabel's foot jammed into the gas, speeding us out of the warehouse and onto the road. My head snapped around, expecting to see him chase after us. But, he didn't. Instead, I saw him rise from his crouched position before the boy's corpse, hand raised and teeth bared in a smile. Knowing, yet unsure.

He's coming for us next.


	9. I'm Here

"Please! No! Sto-!" I bit into the last member, a cutie pie blond trying to ward me off with the edge of her high heels. She was huddled up in a corner, cradling herself like a toddler. I couldn't help but laugh, hearing her words clog up in her throat, gargling through blood what I assumed were her last words.

I had been at it for almost an hour, keeping these damn kids in line. Seriously! They were nothing but trouble! One of them threw rocks. Another tried to ward me away with a lighter! Honestly, kids these days don't know how to treat their elders!

I road a hand over my mouth, wiping away the blood, only to feel the soft plush of smooth lips beneath my palm. My body was finally solidifying! Granted, I was still... gooey. But, it was progress!

I took in a breath, acknowledging the strange sensation of expansion within my chest. My lungs had been the first thing to manifest, just before the brain. And, with new lungs, came a slightly new voice. Not my usual silky self, but something smooth and deep. It was a little annoying to hear.

By the time I came to, the room around me was in ruins, chaotic and warped. I already had blood on my hands.

A job well done!

I hummed to myself, sitting down as the transformation stretched on. Rubbing at the ink, I made out bits of skin still detached and linked by the webbing of black slime. It was white. Smooth and without blemish. Small, peachy fuzz poked at the tips of my fingers as I road my grimy hand up the inner layer of my forming thigh.

"Hey! I'm a male!" I smiled to myself, looking over my chest and hips to admire the nakedness of it all.

Well, that wouldn't do.

I stood up, reflexively trying to dust off the black gunk that clung to me. But, it didn't budge. Instead, it slid easily under my palm as though a layer of skin. Which, in a way, it would be. Not yet, but within an hour, yes.

I scanned the room, tapping my newly formed finger against the tip of my chin. My steps weren't quite as squishy as before, making my approach soft with the tapping of soles. I sauntered up to a body, the younger a handsome brunette with pale skin and round fingernails.

He wore a plain, white collared button up, paired with black slacks and a brown leather belt. Peering down at my own design, broadened chest and the strong outlining of arms, I compared our measurements. We were about the same.

"Well, pal! For my first decision as a human, I'll be stealing your look!" I snapped my fingers, intent on transferring his clothes to my body. There was a pause, the echo of my snap bouncing off the wall. He was still clothed. I was still... not. Confusion came over me, my gaze shifting to my hand. It only took a moment for me to realize the problem.

"Oh! Of course!" I slapped my hands together, good humor evident in my laugh. My body would be the first to come. It was still forming. Humans were simple and easy and not at all complicated to create. But, my power was something else. It was complex. Intricate. It would take time for my ability of warping time and space to come back to me. I'd give it 'til the end of the summer.

In the meantime, I would still have pyrotechnics and dream invasions on my side. Humans can do that, right? Not as well as I can, of course. But a little. There had been a few 'exceptional' beings among the boring, brick-brained fleshlings in my time. I just had to tap into my skill to reach it with this vessel.

Later. I'd test it out later. But right now I needed to get this guy's pants off.

They slid on easily enough, the smooth hug of polyester against newly formed skin a type of pleasure I wasn't used to. It was cozy! I looked at my hands, the light patches of skin linking together and spreading over my surface. Soon, I was covered in it. A soft, fleshy layer of cells and tissue and nerve endings. I road my hand over my face, kneading the hard poke of bone that rounded and sharpened my cheeks.

'Ooh~ Very nice!'

I slid my hand to my chin, pinching at the base of a strong jawline. No facial hair, sadly. Too bad. I would have loved stroking a goatee while contemplating evil plans and watching my enemies from the shadowed corner of the room. But, I suppose I could settle for nefariously stroking a cat seated on my lap in a swivel chair.

My hand rose to comb through the separating fibers that would soon become hair. I plucked at a piece, fully formed and straight between my fingers: Blond. How fitting! I let out a sigh of satisfaction, rolling the strand between my fingers before letting it float to the floor. I paused, looking at the body before me with smug derision.

"I'm amazing." I said simply. And, I was. Smart. Cunning. Powerful. Obviously very handsome! And, without even lifting a finger, I was able to trick these fleshlings into bringing me back! It was almost too much! Soon, I'd have my power back. Soon, I'd get revenge on this town. Soon, that damned Pines' family would get what was coming to them.

Soon.

For now, let's just see what I'm working with. I slid my hand into my pant's right pocket. I felt metal, pulling it out to see a line of carved out silver teeth. Car keys!

"O-ho-ho! Looks like someone's going for a joyride in your car! Hope you don't mind!" I looked down at the body, blood sliding down the corner of his mouth and making a dripping noise, as though to respond. I chuckled, looking back at the keys in my hand.

"I owe you one, pal!" My tone was smug, right eye going to wink at him. But, it didn't. My fingers rose to feel at the lid of my eye, collapsed in and jammed with some kind of lead. My nails gripped at it, slowly sliding the piece out with a slimy pull. Once it was out, I held the piece in front of me to get a better view. A bullet. Someone must have gotten a little trigger happy back there and shot my eye out. And I had been looking forward to depth perception, too!

"... Damn it." I pouted for a moment, only to break out with a grin. "Well, joke's on you, friend. Pirates are in this season." I'm sure a place as classily weird as Gravity Falls would have eye patches in stock year round! And, with this form, it'll look nothing short of dapper!

I shoved the keys back into my pocket, checking my left side next. Another set of keys, labeled at the base as 'C-618'. "And, what do we have here?" I purred, only to let out a gasp.

"Your room keys?! Moving a bit fast, aren't you?" I cocked a brow at the body, motionless. My shoulders relaxed, letting out a sigh as I feigned modesty. "Well, I'm not usually so forward... but if you insist."

I twirled the key around my finger, watching the metallic gold twinkle against small rays of sunlight. I'd have to get moving soon.

"Woops! Would you look at that? Daybreak!" I put the key back in my pocket, fishing out the car's keys instead. "I'd love to stay and chit chat, but I've got a busy day ahead of me. Hope you don't mind if I steal all your cash, hijack your phone, and leave you to rot!" A fly buzzed onto the boy's lower lip, rubbing its back legs together before buzzing away.

"Ashes to ashes, my friend." I clicked my tongue at him, pointing my fingers with a gun motion before turning away. I couldn't seem to keep myself from whistling all the way to the car, even going so far as to give a little heel click in smug cockiness. I was going to win this time. I was definitely going to win.

**And kill those Pines.**

The car door opened with a beep, swinging outwards for me to slide in.

"Ha! Haven't ridden one of these bad boys since ol' Sixer!" I patted my hand against the leather wheel, liking that bit of firmness it gave off. Humans were simple, and everything humans did was simple. It wouldn't take too long for the driving basics to come back to me. In the meantime, I leaned over to the passenger's seat, peering at the contents inside. Maybe they had some kind of weapon I could entertain myself with.

"Let's see... Gum, receipts, candy wrappers, eye liner, napkins, joints, lighters, magazines... God, these kids were lame. Even Pine Tree'd have a Swiss Army Knife or something on him!" I began to close the compartment, only for something to catch my eye.

A white box, wrapped in plastic and unopened.

"Oh?" I reopened it, reaching my hand in to grab it. It was a small thing, lying in my palm with the simple print of a camel on the front. I held it to my ear, shaking it softly to hear the collective shuffle of rolled up paper sticks jostling around. I pulled it away, turning it around curiously for a moment, only to shrug my shoulders and rip the plastic away.

Hey, what's theirs is mine, right?

The box's top popped open, exposing straight rolls with unburnt butts and orange ends. Cigarettes.

"Whoa! Cancer seeds! Don't mind if I do!" I smirked, sliding one out between slender, pale fingertips. It was sturdy, thick and tightly wound with paper, yet felt grainy when pressed and rolled between my middle and index. I tapped it against my lip, sniffing the strong fragrance of dried tobacco and the subtle nip of nicotine. It slid between my lips, tongue wiggling it around with a sort of self satisfaction. All that was left was a lighter.

Taking my thumb and index, I squeezed them around the tip, tapping into that bit of 'amazingness' humans could do if they used more of their brain. What a joke. The cigarette was lit without effort, a stream of smoke lifting to cloud the car's roof. It was fun having a body! Most of the time, I rummage through the silverware and rough it up a bit before giving it back. It was an amazing stimulus!

But now, having a body that really was mine, I could do whatever I wanted with it! No return policy! I shut my eyes, leaning back on the chair as my newly formed muscles flexed. My throat closed up a bit against the smoke, but I kept going at it. I could just feel my new organs strain against the intrusion, and my blood pressure rose instantaneously. Above all, I loved the heavy smoke I puffed out.

I imagined that was what a burning pine tree looked like.


	10. New In Town

The shack was quiet. Soos had taken the liberty of shutting business down today, turning away tourists and placing bed sheets over each attraction. It was a convenient spot to meet up. Relatively unaffected by personal belongings and large enough for everyone to sit and scheme.

Dipper sat, knee bouncing, hands turned to fists as he cupped the base of his chin in thought. Dark bags pulled at the soft skin under his eyes, contrasting his tone to the point of almost ghostly appeal. He was an unhealthy shade of white, nails and knuckled blushing pink against albino flesh.

He had hardly slept in days, kept awake by the continual pumping of caffeine and energy drinks. Mabel always advised against it, but what did she know? He was having horrible nightmares.

He froze, hearing pitiful sighs from the kitchen. His grunkles had been told about the news instantly, and Stan had to calm Dipper down on one end and Ford on the other. Supposedly, they had been sailing between the Caribbean and an inter-galactic alien harvest by the time he called them up. But, all plans were dropped once they heard of Bill's resurfacing.

A quick docking. An overnight stay at some two star motel. Five hours worth of traffic and red lights. Dipper was a shaking mess by the time they reached the main land, already bruised beneath both eyes and jittery with coffee. It was a rough reunion, one they began by pretending to be thrilled with. But that only worsened his nerves.

"-he'll go for the kids first, Ford!" Came a harsh whisper. Dipper's eyes lowered, noting the familiar hush of concealed frustration. The sharp scraping of wooden legs against flooring cut off his grunkle's next line. The muffled creaking of weighted steps unused to Soos's newly tiled flooring. There was a groan. A sharp curse.

"Don't you think I know that?! But this isn't the time! We need all the help we can get, Stanley!" He shifted awkwardly, gaze moving to the steps that led upstairs. Mabel had almost instantly made her way to their old room. It was now refurnished and painted, with little white clouds and a blue sky, to comfort the tiny body that slept, curled up, under a mobile dressed in pine trees and shooting stars and six fingers. Soos's own pride and joy, Stan Jr.

She was probably talking to Melody. About the baby. About Waddles. About sweaters and sunshine. She was good like that, Melody. Always level headed and kind-hearted. Dipper could tell why Mabel went to her first, instead of sticking around where he was. His head rolled in his hands, holding back a groan as the whispers became harsher.

"They shouldn't be anywhere near this! Who knows what Bill'll do to them-!"

"They're not children anymore. Look, they've both got something to contribute to this whole ordeal, and we can use that! They're **adults**, Stanley. We can't keep trying to protect them!"

A raging pound broke through their mute fight, Stan's voice rising beyond the originally established volume.

"**Watch me**!" Dipper's shoulders bunched up, wincing at his tone. He steadied himself, making sure they couldn't tell he was in the other room, listening in on their conversation. The whole point of meeting back up had been so they could all work together...

He picked out the uncertain shifting of weight from foot to foot, followed by the pulling out of a chair and the smooth rubbing of palms over waxed oak wood.  
It was quiet after that. Whether they had stopped talking or simply spoke softer now. Dipper couldn't make out the proceeding words, and so sighed before getting off the couch. It was time for work.

He walked up the few wooden steps leading out of the den, leaning over the stair's banister. Cupping his hand around his mouth, he forced his voice to carry its way upwards, though he felt drained and limp.

"Mabel! It's time to go." He stood, arms draped over the splintering rail that road its way up. A moment passed, Dipper tapping the tip of his shoe against the floor as he hummed to himself, pretending not to see the grunkles peek their heads out of the kitchen to peer at him. Mabel opened the door with a start, coaxing cries from the baby boy in Melody's arms.

"Oh! And make sure to send me his measurements! I'll knit him some footies!" She beamed, leaning in to 'boop' the wailing child on the nose. Melody was undeterred, giggling as she rubbed Stan Jr.'s back soothingly.

"Haha! I'll keep it in mind."

She skipped down the steps, jumping over the last one. Dipper smirked her way, watching Mabel straighten out her sweater before taking his arm.

"Bye, Stan! Bye, Ford!" She called out, tugging him along. The grunkles' reply was melancholy, though forced out with effort and what seemed to be plastic hope. She smiled all the same, trailing Dipper behind her with a hum.

"Dipper says 'bye', too!" Their second response wasn't any brighter than the first. Dipper didn't linger on it. Mabel didn't notice.

They made their way to the car, the shack's screen door transparent, dewed over by mist and morning air. Their steps were grainy, soft and solitary against the dirt road that led to the car. The muffled snapping of twigs could be heard in the distance, coupled with crunching leaves and chirping crickets. It seemed like another peaceful day in Gravity Falls.

The drive was uncomfortably silent, something neither of the twins could ignore. Mabel kept switching between radio stations, going from Pop to R&B to Alternative, only to turn the station off. She'd turn it back on within moments, murmuring to herself as the dial spun. Dipper made several shifting gazes out the window, watching the unsuspecting citizens zip past him and disappear. He began to feel queasy.

"So-!" Mabel began, once again clicking the station away. "You never told me how it went with Wendy~."

Dipper's breath caught in his throat, remembering the lack of details he had given her. Bill's return was in no way a blessing. Not even a blessing in disguise. It was probably the worst thing to ever happen to him. But, being that Bill had come back, he was at least able to stall the conversation.  
He and Wendy hadn't seen too much of each other since their... date.

They still texted one another and talked over the phone, but things were weird between them. Wendy assured him that it was 'okay' and that she 'understood' he wasn't ready. It made him burn. Because, in a twisted way, he felt like she meant to coddle him.

Dipper was in no way, shape or form a little kid. He was a grown man. Well, technically speaking, at least. Just barely. He was old enough to drink, that was for sure. And he moved out of his parent's house. He graduated high school, and had a job. He was twenty-two. Technically an adult. No. Definitely an adult.

So, why were people still babying him?

"It was fine." He said, causing Mabel to snort in annoyance. She stuck out her tongue, blowing a raspberry before smacking the edge of her arm chair.

"Oh, come on, Dipper! Don't be such a downer! Tell me more! What was it like? The candle lit dinner! The romance! The-" She paused, rolling her shoulders.

"-kissing~" She followed up her statement with puckered lips, playfully leaning in close to the side of Dipper's face.  
He scoffed, though the sagging corners of his mouth began to lift.

"No kissing. No romance. It didn't really... Go as planned." He said finally, lifting a hand to push her away.

"Aw, bro... So she shut you down? Bummer." Dipper almost corrected her, only to shut his mouth. If he explained to her how the night really went, how he had cupped a feel and done ten times more than he thought he'd even do, she'd flip. The questions would come pouring in. She'd ask really weird, really invasive questions about her and him and what it was like and who did what and then she'd call Wendy to confirm it all-

And he'd have to explain how he cut her off. How it was super awkward and rude and he felt like a jerk and a tease and a pervert. How he stopped her from doing anything to him. How her touching felt clunky and unnatural, even though he knew she was far more experienced than he was. She must have known what she was doing. She must have.

He didn't want to say it in front of Wendy, but maybe he was doing something wrong? He was unsure of himself, and things just felt like they were going down hill. Fast. Whatever the case, there was no way in hell he was doing anything until he knew what was off. Something just didn't feel right.

"Yeah... It's whatever. It was still a nice night." He turned the corner, pulling up to Mabel's work. She gave him a look of sympathy, patting him on the shoulder before opening the car door.

"So, you and Wendy are still going strong?"

"Definitely... Probably. I think." He shrugged his shoulders, almost surprising himself with his honest lack of interest. A strange feeling that said, 'Hey. Whatever happens happens.'

Mabel didn't pick up on it, seeing his odd apathy as hidden concern. She gave him a pitiable smile, patting him one last time before exiting the car.

"I'm sure you are." Mabel whispered, sending him nothing but hopeful energy. And doubt. But, Dipper was oddly unaffected.

"I'll pick you up at six." He waved her way, though she was gone by the time his hand was raised.

Sighing, he pulled off of the little store's curb. His hand moved, fiddling with the plastic dial to tune into any local news reports. Now was about the only time he could listen to the broadcasts without Mabel whining.

" -for the weather, here's Multibear."

"Thanks, Chet. Good morning, Gravity Falls. Today's weather will be in the highs with a 73% chance of rain, followed by heavy winds coming in from the east at 6 mph. The time is - *Growl* *Growl* Silence! Sorry about that. Anyways, the time is-"

Dipper listened closely, holding his breath as they spoke. Waiting for them to say something, anything, that retained to Bill Cipher. But, nothing. This case was locked up tight. No one outside of the Pines' residence, a few acquaintances, and the GFPD knew about it. And, it was with strong warnings that everyone kept it that way. This town was already on edge. But, news like this breaking out? It would unleash uncontrollable panic.

Best to keep it zipped.

Dipper pulled up to the grey brick, parking his car and strolling inside. The GFPD was busy as ever, swamped with fluttering papers and crushed Styrofoam cups and ringing phones and typing keyboards. Nowadays, work had even less space. As an employee, it was of course Dipper's duty to report in on the 'Bill Dilemma.' He explained the new body, the dead children, the inky black mess that looked at him with glowing yellow eyes...

And, as he spoke to the newly appointed Chief Blubs about his concerns, something struck him: He had no idea what Bill's new body looked like.

**Fuck**.

Of course, he had witnessed this thing manifest into a living, breathing abomination. It stood. It walked. It smiled. But, above all, it was still a gooey mush of gunk and stick and goop. Eyes. A mouth. No ears. No nose. Such a basic design, simply to say 'Yup. That's a body.' But, it wasn't a person at all. Not even an identifiable fingerprint at the crime scene. Dipper had spent countless hours with his gear, dusting the floor and walls for remaining bits of sludge and slime. Darkly pressed thumb prints. Hair follicles. Even bodily discharge.

Nothing. Not even a finger nail. There were, of course, the dead teens. Dipper strained to get his samples, but quickly abandoned his theory after the first three tests came back without identifiable results. He couldn't stand to be near those corpses for long. As far as his tests showed, those kids had been killed by a ghost.

Chief Blubs knew better than to doubt, though. The Pines' residence had become somewhat of a reverenced household, following the events of Weirdmaggedon. It was part of the reason Dipper hadn't been completely, absolutely, definitely fired after admitting to sneaking Mabel along and trying to solve the case without backup. He received his share of reprimanding. And, for the millionth time, Blubs threatened to take his badge away. But, again, this wasn't the first time he had said that.

Dipper maneuvered his way through the crowd of new recruits, interns, and extensive help called in. Blubs, after hearing the news, spared no expenses reaching out for extras. New, more experienced hands to help in the case. Staff had easily doubled in most departments. Detectives and officers alike received their fair share of add-ons and 'plus ones', though they were often wasted and used as errand boys.

"Oh-! Excuse me." Said one, ducking under Dipper's arm with a tray of iced coffees.

He looked behind him, watching the boy stroll up to a desk and hastily plop the drinks in front of Mr. Rook, who was twirling the cord of his desk phone. He seemed to smile at the errand boy, waving a hand at him to go away. And he did.

"Well! Good morning, Dipper!" He stiffened, feeling a sturdy, wide palm pat at the arch of his back. "Haven't seen you in a few days!" Chief Blubs' cheeks rounded with his grin, causing the sunglasses he wore to lift just slightly. He gave Dipper a second pat, as though to verify that he really was there.

"Oh. Sorry. I was getting some family matters sorted out." He replied, solemnly. Blubs kept on grinning.

"Ah, of course, of course! Your Grunkles are back in town... They haven't by any chance...-"

"Nothing new, Chief Blubs. I'll make sure to tell you if Ford has a breakthrough, but-... For the time being, we're all in the dark." His face darkened, hearing the tone of his own voice ring through his ears.

Chief Blubs' tongue tutted, hand still placed firmly against his lower back. He ushered him to the elevator.

"Now, Dipper. Don't let this case get you down! We've got a whole new staff to work with! A lot of people are going to be working together and solving this right by your side!" He pressed the level leading to Dipper's department. Silver doors parted, letting the pair step in.

"I understand. But- I don't really 'work' with people, sir-"

"And, that's something you'll have to get used to." Dipper glowered at the remark, facing the metal doors with growing pessimism.

There was a reason he didn't usually ask for help. Not that he couldn't work with people. But, more than anything, people couldn't work with him. He liked taking control of the situation. He could be a bit of a control freak, not that he'd ever admit it. He thought he was right at least 80% of the time. And of that 80%, he was right about 100% of it. Not to mention the other 20%. In short, he was pretty much always right.

It was hard taking in other people's ideas when you knew what was right and what wasn't. Not that he hadn't tried working with others and solving the case together... But it was so boring! They wanted to get warrants and testimonies and 'back up'. Not to say that Dipper didn't do those things, but he definitely didn't enjoy it as much as his old partners did.

Oddly enough, he was considered a loose canon compared to the pencil pushing bottle necks he usually got. That wasn't how he operated. He was used to working with loose canons, not being one! He needed a balance. If it wasn't, he himself became unstable. Without someone to constantly screw around, forcing him to think rationally and maturely, he only worked to spiral into the leading role of a misfit.

"Now, Dipper." The chief began, hand sliding away to shift the glasses on his face. "You know we all appreciate what you and your family did to protect this town."

Dipper looked at the number just above their heads, glowing red with an electric '3'. His department was on level '7'. Holding back a groan, he continued to listen to Blubs' speech.

"And, when I recommended you for the job, I knew you'd be perfect for this department. It's just-" He cleared his throat. "You're a bit unstable on the field. No one wants you working alone with something this big."

"Blubs!" Dipper blurted, instantly biting his tongue as he turned. It just slipped out of him. He hadn't meant to snap like that, but something inside just seemed to pounce when he heard it. This was personal. This whole case was very personal to him. And Blubs knew that.

"Alright. Alright. Calm down. It's just a precautionary. I know I say this a lot, but your job is on the line here, Dipper. You can't just go off all willy-nilly, solving mysteries and making your sister tag along. She didn't choose to work here. You did."

God, Dipper hated how right he was. He turned back around, hands going into either pocket of his bomber jacket as he mumbled to himself.

"How many people am I working with?" He asked finally. Blubs only laughed at his mopey tone, reaching out to rub at Dipper's shoulder reassuringly.

"One. And he's impressive." Dipper's ears perked up for a moment. One. Not that he liked random partnerships, but it was a step up from a group project.

At least, that's what he thought.

The metal doors separated, giving way to Dipper's usual work space. Only... Dipper coughed, fanning his hand across his face as the smoke reached him. His body moved instinctively to one of the tall windows, propping it open to air out the room. Was something on fire? He moved his hands in a shooing motion, trying to waft the clouds outwards.

"Oh, Mr. Angle! We don't allow smoking indoors." Chief Blubs commented lightheartedly. He himself began to fan the smoke from his nose, lifting his glasses and wiping away the fog that lingered. Dipper turned from the window to look at the Chief. He gave him a questioning look, unaware of the body hidden beyond the smoke.

"You don't say? A-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Sorry about that, 'Chief'!" He jumped, letting out the slightest of yelps as a booming voice broke through the thick curtain of smog. His head snapped to the right, where his desk usually way, only to see a crimson red dot searing through the smoke. Dipper coughed again, shifting closer and closer to the cigarette's end, brow pinched as the steam continued to invade his lounges.

Two more puffs came from the stick, only to ash up at the end and be mashed out on the side of his desk. Dipper would have protested, if he weren't so glad it was put out. He hated smoking.

As soon as it was out, the fog seemed to lift. Fresh air quickly overtook toxic air, swooping in like a vacuum. And, as the fog cleared, Dipper was finally able to get a look at 'Mr. Angle.'

There, seated before him, was a dapper man lounging at Dipper's desk. Feet kicked up on the edge, body slumped in his seat, fingers rubbing at the singe mark left by his 'Camel Cigarettes', and completely at home in his space. Dipper stiffened instinctively, viewing the blatant cockiness of it all.

The man had a striking complexion of lightly tanned skin, clean-shaved and without blemish. No freckles or scars, stray hairs or irritation of the flesh. His hair was a rich blond, combed to the side with the slickness of a mobster. It was thick at the roots, so organized and neat that the strands seemed to mold into one collective sheet of silk.

His brows were thin, though the slight elevation they held at the edges provided an air of perpetual narcissism. His eye was lidded and harsh, iris so dark and bold that it appeared almost black. He couldn't make out a varying shade of brown or blue. Simply black. The other eye was covered by an eye patch. And it would have looked silly if he weren't pulling it off so well.

Oh, yes. He pulled it off effortlessly. He wore a crisp white shirt, dark dress pants shot vertically with the thin lining of white threads, and a well-placed bow tie around his neck. His dress shoes were polished black, currently crossing over each other and lying atop Dipper's stack of important files. They seemed to gleam in the sun light, sliding over the glossy black as he nodded his toes to music that wasn't there.

And, above all, the man's face stretched with enthusiasm, fingernail going to tap at his cheek, as he pulled a painful grin. His teeth seemed yellow while also somehow glowing with a pristine whiteness unknown to Dipper.

Dipper stared at him in disbelief, instantly turned off by 'Mr. Angle's' pretentious settlement among his belongings. He noticed, just below the man's rubber heels, a snippet of the crime scene photos he had taken. The ones of the ware house and corpses. The man was getting crumbs of dried mud and grass on them.

"Hey-!" Dipper gasped. His hand went to shoot out to him, shock overpowering his self-control. Blubs cut in without noticing his complaint.

"So, I assume you're getting situated?" His hands went to push at his sunglasses, mirroring the man's reflection right back at him.

"Oh, definitely! Definitely! Great view! Nice location! And I just love the new desk! Very sturdy! What is this? Maple? Pine?" He placed his hand on the desk, knocking at the surface once to make a point.

"It's wood." Dipper crossed his arms, shooting him a look.

Another boom of laughter, abrupt and pleased by the comment. The man's head tilted back, arms going to cross behind his head as he looked to the ceiling in amusement. He hummed to himself, his fit of laughter dying as soon as it had started. A smirk remained on his lips as he began to turn just slightly in Dipper's swivel chair. A moment more, and his sharp eye was looking right at him.

It was only for a second, the black orb roaming his body with an approving roll. He caught a glimpse of porcelain skin peeking out beyond Dipper's shirt collar. His tie had been tightened properly, but the continual slipping of fingers to pull at it made it slack. A bit of his collar popped at the edge, folded against his long neck.

And, as dainty nails went to comb through brown curls, he had a wonderfully hypnotic expression. Angle couldn't help but notice the stern look of slanted eyes and drawn down brows, scowling and almost barking at him. Coupled nicely with a body like that, and he was almost jealous of the fleshling.

'Ooh, He'd look nice on a leash!'

The analysis was cut before anyone could notice, Mr. Angle quickly looking back at Chief Blubs.

"Well, then. Who's the sapling?" His feet slid from the desk, a single photo floating to the floor as he did so. It landed just under the tip of his dress shoe, stepped on almost mockingly.

"My work!" Dipper once again gaped at his arrogance, hands shooting to the air as his disbelief sky rocketed.  
He was at the edge of the desk before he knew what was happening, bending down to yank the photo from under his foot. He was on his knees, fingers clamped around the crisp corner, only to feel pressure added when he pulled at it.

Dipper's eyes shot up instantly, a look of disgust smearing over his expression as he viewed the man. Mr. Angle seemed to smile, head now tilted to the side in his hand as he looked on in amusement. The ass hole was intentionally keeping the picture under his foot.

"Move. Your foot." Dipper snarled between bared teeth. The man seemed to pause for a moment, still imagining the younger leashed by the throat to the base of his throne, before coming to his senses and... not lifting his foot. But smiling wider.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I don't believe we've met. Are you my new secretary?" Dipper's face darkened instantly. There was an electricity behind those eyes, and Mr. Angle was eating it up.

"What the hell? No! I'm-" He shot up to his feet, hands going to plant at his hips as he snarled. But, that only made him that much more appealing. Angle liked them with a bit of fire.

"Hey, hey, hey! Whoa! Back up, kiddo. No need to take things personally." The Chief's palms lifted, imploring Dipper to calm down.

"But, chief- He- He's-"

"-New in town. He didn't know it was your desk. Now, William, would you please get out of my friend's seat? This is his work space."  
The man's smile widened, looking to Chief Blubs and then to Dipper.

"Oh, is it?" His hand moved to his chest, feigning innocence. Dipper's lip pulled up in a grimace, seeing right through that shitty little tone. And, even though the guy only had one eye, he almost felt like Angle had winked at him. Tauntingly. He continued.

"I had no idea! Please, take your spot back! I insist." He lifted from the chair with a great show, body snapping to its feet in an instance as his eye went to gaze out the window nobly, like he had given up a great treasure to Dipper. Blubs only seemed to smile, arms crossing with a bit of smug maturity. As if to say, 'now, was that so hard?'

"Why, thank you, William. That was very nice of you. Don't you think so?" The chief looked to Dipper, who was still giving William the death stare. He had a habit of disliking his partners, but this was so much worse than he thought it would be. He already hated the guy!

"Is-..." Dipper began, only to second guess his choice of words. His fingers went to the base of his bottom lip for a moment, mulling over his word choice in front of his boss. He could have gotten fired for what he was going to say. He worried his lip, tempted to say it anyways. But in the end, he chose the nicer route.

"Is this guy my new partner?" He managed, stuffing down the growing groan that was continually climbing up his throat. Blubs looked at him pleasingly, only smiling with a gesture as his attention turned back to the man.

"He's impressive, kid. I think you'll be pleased with his work." Dipper doubted it. This man was probably too pompous to get his hands dirty. He'd bet money on it.  
Despite the obviously horrible first impression, they shook hands. The man's fingers were long, firm, and professionally fitted to Dipper's palm. And yet, when he looked at that face, he saw nothing but trouble. Finally, Dipper sighed.

"Pines. Dipper Pines. It's 'nice' to meet you." There was a shock. A pain that road up his spine. The man's grip suddenly tightened at the announcement of his name. Dipper's eyes lifted to meet with his gaze, confusion building as the hand continued to solidify and squeeze. But, when their eyes met, something froze in him. The man looked very... frightening. He looked angry. Surprised, but angry. Dipper began to clam up, suddenly intimidated by the open hostility.

"...**Pines?**" Angle hissed, knuckles going white with the way his hand muscles flexed from the words. Pines. Dipper Pines. The twelve year old. Dipper gulped, shoulders bunching up as his gaze shifted from the man to Blubs. Was the Chief seeing any of this? Nope.

"Uh, yeah... Pines. You might have heard of my Grunkles before. Stan's pretty well-known in Vegas, and Ford's got a diploma in just about every science." He hoped Mr. Angle would let go after his statement. Maybe Stan had screwed him over? He might have had some bad blood, and felt like getting revenge by proxy. Damn it. That was never good. It wouldn't have been the first time, either.

Angle's thumb seemed to flinch at the statement, bringing him back to life a little. His fingers shook for a moment, nails digging into a bit of his skin, only to relax in an instance. He began to laugh.

"Oh! A-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha! Forgive me! It's just- Hehe! I never would have guessed the notorious 'Dipper Pines' looked like-" He lifted his left hand, gesturing to the boy. "-This! Hilarious, really!" Dipper's face instantly snapped from afraid to sour. Like 'this'? Like what? God, he knew he was a nerd, but he didn't think it was that bad.

"A-ha-ha-ha." Dipper mocked humorlessly, eyes going to glare at him. Angle just kept on shaking his hand, a brisk up and down motion that seemed to mirror the meeting of a famous celebrity.

"Very funny."

"I know, right?!" He seemed unaffected by the boy's glaring, only soaking up the attention as he growled.

"Anyways, name's William. William Angle: Criminal Mind Expert." He made sure to emphasize the ending with the intent of annoyance. It worked flawlessly, Dipper unable to conceal his eye roll. Or, maybe he wanted William to see it. Just maybe.

"Yeah. Sure. Nice to meet you William: Criminal Mind 'expert'." His hand slipped from William's, going to the air to make quotations as he spoke. If it weren't for Blubs still in the room, those hands would have been making a very different hand gesture. William, seeing the quotations, only nodded playfully. His grin stretched, pulling his skin taut as a hand rose to pat Dipper's shoulder.

"Oh, so formal, sapling!" He hummed, hand becoming uncontrollably stern for a moment as his grip tightened. Anger was beginning to build in him again, though he shoved it away.

'No. Not yet. I can't get to him yet. Not with my meat sack still all weak, or with the fuzz looking for me. I'll lay low. For now, I'll lay low. **And wait for him to come to me unsuspecting.'**

"Please." William lowered himself just slightly, almost in the same fashion of a partial bow.

"Call me 'Bill'."


	11. Call me Bill

"Please. Call me 'Bill'."

Dipper was shocked, looking at him incredulously. The corners of his lips fell in distaste, while also hitching up in a sneer. His thickened brows, a dark set of mocha lines, drew downwards with baffled indignation as his mouth fell open just slightly.

He looked at William Angle, expecting him to bust out laughing and admit to pulling his leg. Instead, he met Dipper's gaze with satisfaction and confidence. The bastard.

"That-" Dipper began, eyes slitting into darts. He came close to saying, '-is fucked up.' And, if Chief Blubs weren't still there, rubbing off his sunglasses with a smile, he definitely would have. "Is highly inappropriate."

And it was. In his mind, Dipper rationalized that Mr. Angle was ignorant. He had no idea how serious this case really was! To him, the town's infamous 'Bill Cipher' was some kind of escaped convict. A robber. A rapist. A murderer. Nothing he couldn't handle. Because he was just that good.

But he wasn't, Dipper thought. There was so much more to this than William would ever understand. Bill was a living nightmare. There wasn't any room to joke around about the subject. Because, as far as he was concerned, this situation was in no way funny. If they screwed around with this case, everyone in town, all of his friends- his family and loved ones- were fucked.

"Oh, come on sapling! No need to take it so seriously. Think of it as a friendly nickname! A chummy comradery!" His hand went to roll through the air, conjuring up a casual atmosphere. He pet Dipper's shoulder, only causing him to shy away from the contact.

"It's 'Pines'." His shoulders became angled to William, Dipper's body turned defensively as the look on his face continued to sour. "Call me 'Pines' and I'll call you 'Angle'."

"Well, that doesn't sound very friendly at all!" He pulled a pout, crossing his arms playfully with a mocking expression that reflected Dipper's own. He scoffed, once again taken back by Mr. Angle's childish attitude. Blubs, on the other hand, found the whole thing very entertaining.

"Ha! It doesn't, does it?" He moved from in front of the desk, arm going to pull Dipper in at the side. His body, bunched up against Chief Blubs' stout shoulder, seemed to cringe up. Blubs shook him slightly, giving him a playful squeeze as he continued to chuckle. A moment more, and his wide palm went to pat Dipper's chest with a lighthearted familiarity.

"You'll have to excuse Dipper's mood today. He wasn't expecting a partner." The chief piped in, hands going to his hips as he nudged his head in Pine's direction. He continued to smile, unaware on the full hostility behind their conversation. He saw Dipper's easily. He knew him well enough to identify which buttons not to push. And, saundering in like a black cat, William managed to drum his fingers against every one of them.

So obviously, Dipper was going to fight. He had his tone set with venom, his slender body bulked by the expansion of his chest. He squared his shoulders, making sure the beam of his piercing glare met those black pupils of his. Dipper was pissed the hell off, no doubt about it.

But, being their first meet, Blubs had no idea how aggressively William was fighting back. But, in a different way. He was a special case. Sly and clever, tricky and well-hidden among the average man. It was one thing to bite. It was another to nibble. Have a taste. Trudge over those little nerves of his, prancing around the kid's mind without a care in the world.

He knew the mind better than anyone, and he knew exactly how to piss someone off. It was his specialty! The point wasn't to attack one specific topic. His poor-piss attitude, work space, or simple mannerisms. No. It was to attack each one with the power of suggestion. Like stacking dominos, one block knocking over the next, all it took was a few words that led into a way of thinking.

Something that connected one thought to the next, spiralling them into a negative mindset. Like how he called him 'Sapling.' Something condescending. Submissive. Below him. Not that he out right called him a subordinate, but the name suggested it. And, if he knew Pine Tree's brain, which he did, he knew it was working overtime to analyze every little thing he said.

Which it was.

"Chief Blubs-" Dipper began. Now was the perfect time for him to be cut off.

"Oh, no problem! I can tell he's not used to people like me working on a case with him. I'm sure he's just very intimidated!" There was nothing worse than attacking a man's pride. It took every bone in his body not to burst out in laughter, watching Dipper's eyes get blown wide from the comment.

Dipper surged in place, nose wrinkling as a burning electricity buzzed behind his eyes. He bit his lip painfully hard, hand raised with an accusing finger pointed William's way. Angle's grin seemed to stretch off his cheeks, hearing Dipper's restrained breath huff from his flared nostrils in burning frustration. Dipper paused, trying with all his might to steel himself before the floodgates broke through. A choked growl, shoved down as quickly as it climbed up his throat, made its way to Angle's pleased ears.

He watched in amusement, waiting for him to snap. He expected him to snap. It would be wonderfully humiliating for the mortal. Disappointment overwhelmed him however as the boy lowered his arm, going to shove it back in his pocket with a grumble. He looked away, still sneering, only to take a breath and calm down. Fast. Soon enough, his features were set with a stale expression of indifference as he looked William dead in the eye.

A cold dullness painted those chestnut orbs, now fixated and maturely aware of something. Something that seemed obvious now. William was messing with him. And, restricting a reaction would be so much less entertaining for him. The guy wasn't being cocky. He knew what he was doing the second Dipper walked in. He was asserting dominance. Dominance that could be won through subjugation, annoyance, and a short temper in front of his boss.

This guy was an ass. And, lucky for him, so was Dipper.

"Not at all. I was just worried about my back, considering you'll be piggybacking on my work." Dipper's lips began to turn upwards, slanted eyes now shining with a playfulness of their own. "I'm not used to prepping noobies, but I'll see if I can dumb down the basics for you."

His eyes met Blubs', viewing the blatant disappointment on his face. Dipper was acting childish. But so was William! Blubs hadn't said anything about Angle's insults, letting them roll over him like water, because they weren't directed at him. Well, in that case, Blubs didn't need to worry about anything. But, Dipper? He knew this meant war.

He braced himself, slowly moving his gaze from the chief, ready to receive some kind of bitter response. Instead, he was shocked to see William... grinning? He remained silent, watching the grin morph into a smile as his hand went to stroke the base of his chin in amusement. He mulled over the statement, humming happily at the fleshling's arrogance.

It was always nice smacking someone off of their high horse, and that cold comment Pine Tree made was meant for just that. The kid was gutsie, Angle admitted. Aggressive and hot headed. But, also level where it counted. He wanted to get the jump on people. He wanted to be in control. Nothing was better than a power-hungry human, and it was almost a shame knowing he was on his hit list.

"You sure are fiesty, kid. I like it!" Those spidery fingers of his came together fondly, clasping each other to be held against his chest. Dipper's shoulders bunched up at the sudden 'clap', lips pulling into a grimace at his response.

He... liked that?

"I think we're gonna make a great team! Don't you agree, Chief?" Mr. Angle shot Blubs a look of elation, of genuine excitement, sensing something to look forward to.

It could be good- no- great partnering up with his old enemy. He'd get a real kick out of watching his little puppet scramble around, prattling on about fickle theories and conspiracies concerning Bill Cipher. It was rare, being so close to the human race. And in such a high position, too! Why couldn't he indulge himself for a while? Watch the meat sacks panic. Search for him. All the while he laughed and taunted them from the shadows. Because he was right under their noses.

The chief seemed to calm down, mistaking his pleased deception as an honest-too-good natured forgiveness. He smiled at the man, writing him off as both charming and trust worthy. He was someone Dipper could take notes from, temperament-wise.

"Huh? Oh! Absolutely! You guys'll be like two peas in a pod! Hehe..." Dipper turned to peer down at his short chief, a look of total astonishment, only for it to fall into one of hopeless annoyance. Blubs was lying through his chubby cheeks if he thought they were actually going to get along.

"Well..." He continued. "I'll let you two get situated, then. It's almost my lunch break." Dipper could have screamed at him. 'What the hell are you doing?! Get back here!' There was no way he wanted to be left alone with that guy. He was a big enough annoyance with the boss around. But, if he was left alone to his own accords, he just knew this man'd be a complete dick. Dipper opened his mouth to complain.

"Okay. Tell Durley I said 'hi'." He raised his hand with a wave, cursing himself as the chief complied and promised to give his husband the greeting. Of course he wasn't going to complain. But, **God**. He sure as hell wished he was, because as soon as Blubs left the room Angle was a laughing mess.

Dipper glowered at him, watching the man's bouncing shoulders jostle the bow tie around his neck as his hands went to his stomach. Boy, could this guy laugh. It was high, erratically placed with cackles and snorts, as well as that provocative suggestion in his tone. Like he was laughing at him. Which he was.

"Boy, kid! I was almost sure you'd break! You should've seen the look on your face!" He steadied himself, hand going over his mouth as the widest grin crossed his lips. He let out a sigh, trying to calm down, only to blow a raspberry and start himself up again. He wiped away a fake tear, watching Dipper like a comedy show with non-stop knee slappers.

"Fuck. You." He responded simply, expression both plain and infuriated.

"Ah-ah-ah." Bill wagged a finger at him, still stifling a laugh. He took a breath, wiggling his bow tie between a set of confident hands, before taking a seat behind the desk. Dipper's desk. "Don't want Blubs-y overhearing you, now do we? You sure were unreasonably upset back there... Hey! Maybe that's why they asked me to work with you! You're unstable!"

"And you're a jerk. Move." He made his way to the corner of the desk, hands still in either of his pockets as his brows continued to pinch up and lower.

"Aw, sapling-"

"Move."

"Don't be pushy. What's yours is mine, right?" Dipper frowned, watching Mr. Angle's feet go to kick up on his desk again. He put his hand on the tip of William's shoe, using his index and middle to slide his feet off the desk with a sneer. The man just laughed, going to his pocket before pulling out a rolled cigarette.

"Hey, whoa! No. No smoking." He smiled against the unlit bud, only humming as his eye went to indulge in the ogling of his 'partner.' Pine Tree really was a sight for sore eye when his temper rose. Wonderfully rebellious. Exciting. He made a point not to remove the stick from between his lips.

"Oh? And why not?" William asked innocently.

"It's gross. For real, how do you enjoy that stuff? It smells like death." He grimaced, waving his hand at smoke that wasn't there. Angle only tutted, pulling out a lighter. He assumed the mortal wouldn't take too kindly to him setting the end ablaze with his forefinger. Not that he wouldn't love to see the reaction. He pressed his thumb against the flint roller, raising a brow just to taunt him.

"Angle. No." His teeth were clenched. William's thumb flicked against the metal wheel, striking up a tiny flame. He let the sight linger, waiting for Dipper to protest before he went on lighting his smoke.

"Seriously, stop." He moved closer, only warded off by the possibility of getting physical. He didn't want to wrestle a tiny plastic container out of his hands, in part because it'd look silly. He held his hand out to William, silently ordering him to relinquish the lighter. "You'll set off the fire alarms, you dunce."

"Don't be such a baby. I hear smoking's got some healing properties! This stuff cures everything: Anxiety, Diabetes, Cancer. Why not give it a try? Might even cure your whining!" He leaned in on the flame, letting his cigarette tip catch fire.

It was a self-serving act, one meant more to mock Pine Tree than to actually smoke. He began humming again, this time checking his nails and rubbing them over his clean-pressed shirt.

"Chief Blubs said not to smoke indoors. You wanna get fired?" Not that he would mind kicking him to the curb, but he wanted to see Angle squirm a little first. He could be cynical like that.

"What? You gonna tattle on me? Go ahead! Go crying to daddy~. See what happens."

"Wha-" Dipper began, his voice put off and defensive. Well, when he said it like that... It sounded weird. But, it also sounded childish. Like Dipper was in the wrong. He wasn't though, right? He was just telling on William. No. Not telling on him. Reporting him.

"No. It-... It's not like that. It's because you're breaking the rules! That's all."

"Sure. Sure. I'm breaking the rules. Because, I'm sure in the goodness of your heart, you're only doing what you see fit, right? Not that you'd ever break the rules or anything, right? You're not that kind of person, right? No~! You're just a goodie little two shoes, aintcha? Just doin' what daddy tells ya? Good for you, pal! Good for you! Well, while you're over there, narking to papa Blubs about my sneaking a smoke, I'll be over here in the real world. Because, in the real world, people don't give a shit." William pulled the cigarette from his lips, blowing a thick cloud of smoke at Dipper's face.

He cringed, eyes twitching, irises shrinking as he fanned the steam away with a cough. He watched him shamelessly put his feet back on the desk, the last bit of his self-control slowly crumbling away.

"**Angle**." His ears perked up, instantly liking Pine Tree's restrained fury, trying his hand at a final warning. That voice was shakingly bleak. Unhinged. So very, very close to taking action. To losing control. To going insane. He'd love to see that.

"Call me 'Bill.'" He responded simply, hand moving to pop the roll right back on his lip. It didn't make it, though. Instead, he was met with an intense force being flung onto him, clambering over his body, fighting to snatch the cigarette from his hands.

"You ass!" Dipper spat, now straddling Mr. Angle in his seat, trying to rip that stick from his fingertips. He heard a laugh as William, quite amused by the act, moved it farther away. He held it to the left of him, then to the right, only to stretch it far above his head as the embers continued to seer. The taunting didn't do much to deter Dipper. Only to fuel him. Like a cat with a laser pointer, wherever he placed the burning red dot, Pine Tree sprang for it.

"A-ha-ha-ha-ha! Reach, smokey! Reach!" He cackled, using his branch-like arms to keep it just out of his grasp. He looked on in satisfaction, coming face-to-chest with the expanse of Dipper's collar bone. Even with everything happening so quickly, William was able to find the time to admire the kid just a little. Stretching past him, knees spread over either side of Angle's hips, and cursing up a storm as he continued to grab for the thin light.

What a brat. A wonderfully rebellious, untamed brat. Something worth his time. Not in a literal sense, but in a humorous one. Messing with him was fun! And, maybe it had something to do with being trapped in stone for years, but he was a lot of fun! More fun than he'd had in forever! Pine Tree was easy on the eyes, no doubt. But it was even better watching something pretty fall to pieces!

Definitely. He wanted this pawn around a little longer. To mess with him. To torture instead of kill. Not physically, but mentally. Push a few buttons. Win a few wars. And, hey! He was quick witted, too! Not like when he was younger, shaking in his shorts and acting so paranoid. In this form, Bill was just another human, and he treated him as such. It was nice! He sure had a way of strutting his stuff when it came to being spit-fire. So, maybe he would chop down the Pine Tree last. Just to keep himself entertained. Just maybe...

Dipper lifted, hands moving to Angle's shoulders for just a moment before elevating himself. It was in reach now, only an inch from his fingers. William's face had been smothered in the soft exposure of his lower stomach, caused by Dipper's continual journey up and above him. William's slow suffocation, coupled with Dipper's persistent grabs, eventually resulted in the cigarette being relinquished to him. He let out a triumphant laugh, taking the thing between his fingers before flicking it on the cement ground.

"Ha!" He said, lips tugging up in a smug smile.

"Attaboy, sapling! You got my cigarette, but... I'm not so sure you've won your seat back." Those teeth went to smile right back at him, sharp canines threatening to pierce his throat. Dipper's head tilted, despite himself, confused by the statement.

"Huh..?" His arms, mindlessly draped over Angle's shoulders, seating himself on his lap, legs spread to place his pert behind on William's upper thighs. He was completely oblivious to his current position, only to feel William's leg bounce him up a single time. All of the sudden, he was completely aware and completely humiliated.

"Whoa, fuck-!" His palms pushed against the man's chest, shoving himself off of him and onto the floor. He didn't care. He rose to his feet and dusted himself off with a frantic look on his face.

"What? First ride?" William cooed smuggly, hand going to fold under his chin.

"Shut up! That- That didn't happen." He straightened his vest, looking anywhere but at his temporary partner. "That wasn't what is was."

"Yeah, I guess not..." He began to smirk. "But, I'm sure they'll draw up whatever conclusion they want in the break room. People come with some wacky conclusions over there, kiddo." He give Dipper a wink. Well, technically a blink. But, with enough derision to substitute a wink. Dipper froze, blanching at the comment.

"You wouldn't." His brows drew down in concern, eyes opening wide. Why would he go around saying something like that had happened?

"Oh, but I would! You see, I'm what people call 'experimental'." Dipper grimaced, hearing the pride drip from his lips. He didn't even have the shame to keep quiet about it. "I don't have a problem letting others know what I get up to."

"But we didn't get up to anything!"

"So what?"

The color drained from his face, looking into that man's single eye. He was serious. For no other fucking reason than to mess with him. To taunt him. To hang something over him and just sort of-... dangle it! He was threatening to lie about him, and on the first fucking day! To top it all off, no one had any reason to believe he was lying either. They didn't know him well enough to know he was a skeeving snake. Dipper ground his teeth together, balling up his fists as his face went red.

"...What do you want..?" William smiled, tapping his finger against his cheek. What did he want? Well, it was easy! World domination. A human throne. Complete **chaos**.

But, first and foremost, he wanted revenge.

Looking at Dipper with a pleased grin, he leaned up in his seat, elbows going to rest on his knees. He let out a content sigh, holding onto that bit of power it gave him as Pine Tree's irritation sky rocketed.

"What I asked you for the first time." He responded simply. "Call me 'Bill.'"


	12. Oxytocin

Pine tree sat in the driver's seat, steaming mad as his fingers tapped against the steering wheel. He faked patience, frowning with eyes that continually burned, waiting for the light to change. He shook periodically, arms tightening and relaxing as his muscles strained in frustration.

With hands wrapped tightly around the wheel, Dipper's pink knuckles beginning to pale, veins bulging along the outer layer of his wrists. I watched him from the passenger's seat, satisfied and fully aware of the effect my presence had over him. It was only the first day, and I had successfully re-established us as proper enemies. Just to reiterate:

**I'm amazing.**

"Change, you stupid light." I grinned to myself, cocking an eyebrow as his scowling lips continued to droop.

He grumbled lowly, setting a sharp glare. Again, Pine tree's brow pulled low, hooding the electric flame that shot through his expression. Now, if he had shown bravado like that when he was younger, I might not have underestimated him so poorly. I had to admit: The kid had some anger. Not like when he was a boy. He wanted respect.

I could use that.

"Hmm... Where should we go for lunch, then? I'm feeling-"

"We're not going anywhere until I've picked Mabel up." My puppet snapped.

I couldn't blame him for his sour mood. Not even an hour before, 'chief' Blubs had entered our work space with a wide smile, rounding his pudgy face to the point of popping. His thick, stubby fingers folded between each other, held against his gut with a mocking recreation of poise. He looked comically pleased with himself.

"I'm back!" Blubs almost sang, looking at Pine tree and me.

I lifted a silent hand in greetings from Dipper's desk, grinning with a smugness of my own. My puppet only sighed, replying to his arrival with melancholy. He stood by the test tubes, mindlessly swirling one around as the thick red substance slowly dissolved into a light blue. A laugh was just barely shoved away. The kid had nowhere to sit!

Blubs didn't notice. Instead, he suggested Dipper treat me to lunch! I could've died! He rationalized that, since I was the 'new guy', it was only right. Pine tree stammered and protested, arguing against distractions like 'lunch' and 'the new guy' when they should be researching Bill Cipher's where abouts.

He spoke quickly, interrupted periodically by the chief's attempts at intervening. He'd pipe in once or twice, trying to relax Dipper's nerves, only to be ignored as his worried continued to sky rocket. Dipper was relentless for a moment, hardly allowing a counter-argument as his mouth worked as quickly as his mind, only for Blubs to finally shut him up.

"You're too wound up." He replied. "Take a break, Pines. That's an order."

His lips tripped over themselves, twitching and allowing for unintelligible speech to slip past him. He thought for a moment, wishing to contradict him.

"B-but- Uh, no- I... Yes, sir." He sighed, eyes moving back to his work in defeat. I almost applauded his compliance, wondering if I'd ever work my way into that level of respect from him.

I doubted it.

The light turned green, Dipper both happy and reluctant as his foot eased into the gas pedal. From what he told me, we were heading to the craft store to pick up Shooting star.

They always ate lunch together.

I restrained my accusing remarks of co-dependents, loneliness, and child-like habits, simply pleased to have my puppet unintentionally introduce me to my first victim. Once she was out of the picture, there would be no one to raise their spirits. Something told me Pine tree'd be easier to deal with that way.

Sighing fondly, my chin digging into the palm of my right hand, I viewed the passing town in what Dipper mistook as admiration.

'Not much longer.' I mused. The pieces would fall into place soon enough, whether or not someone tried to stop me. All I had to do was wait. The car came to a halt, parked awkwardly against the curb. Pine tree unbuckled himself, giving me a dirty look as he did so, only to open the door and slide out of his seat.

It shut with a 'slam' as he glared at me through his window. Leaning in, arms braced against the window, eyes slit and untrusting, he gave me a once over before speaking.

"Don't. Touch. Anything."

'Oooh. Scary.' I thought, chuckling as he registered the humor in my expression.

"Yes sir!" My index and middle finger lined up against each other, tapping my forehead before slicing through the air in a salute. I played serious, loving every second that look of hatred was harvested on his face. He snorted, rolling his eyes before straightening himself from his bowed position.

"**Ugh**. Yeah, sure... Don't poke your eye out while I'm gone." His voice was nasty, turning away as his final remark was passed along.

Ouch.

I only smiled at his comment, once again approving of his spiteful nature. He was heartless as all Hell. At least to people he hated. It was almost comforting, hearing the slash of rivalry that cut through his tone. He'd kill me if he could!

I watched Pine tree, giving me the stink eye one last time, enter the store with the chirp of a bell. It was a little annoying seeing him disappear, leaving me in his car. I wouldn't have anything to do in the meantime. Not unless the kid kept a torture kit in his glove compartment. But, knowing him, he'd only make the contraption seem tacky.

I huffed, crossing my arms. Without all of my powers- warping reality and the very confines of human perception- Gravity Falls was just a little bit... dull. I couldn't wait for them to come back to me! That alone was torture! Being this weak had really given me time to think, and now I had some ideas for when I regained them!

I could already picture it.

My Fearamid fixated in the sky. I'd add a few extra rooms this time. Move the torture chamber down the hall. Make space for a lake of fire. Add an art studio for rearranging human features. An opera composed of children screaming. Maybe round up a few more people this time and create a whole squad of mortals, forced to dance for all of eternity! And, right out front, on the top of my Fearamid, is where I'd mount the Pines' heads on a single spike...

Maybe I'll talk to Teeth about it. He's always been into interior decorating.

Pine tree came out in a hurry, trailing Shooting Star behind by her arm. She seemed a bit frazzled, still wearing her work apron and holding a ball of yarn between her hands. And, squinting my eye, I could make out the shimmer on her skin, shining with the silver dotting of glitter glue smears. Her hair was short, cut cutely just above her shoulders, curling up with a poof near the tips. Very pretty, really. They looked almost identical. Though...

Taking a closer look, Dipper seemed a bit curvier. He was definitely thin. In the waist at least. But, seeing the broadness of his chest, as well as the sharp 'pop' of his hips, he looked sort of... nice, actually!

His sister was a bit behind in developments, I'm sorry to say. And, that being the case, it could only be assumed she'd fall more easily for a man that looked like me! If I could just use this body to lure her in, this whole ordeal would be a piece of cake!

I fixed myself, sitting up straight, and with an air of good natured intent, folded my hands together and smiled at the approaching bodies. I made sure to soften my features, loosening those pesky cheek muscles and relaxing my raised eyebrows. My lips were set with a pleasant stretch, showcasing my four front teeth and canines. Pine tree ripped the car door open.

"What did you do?" He rushed out, already looking to see what I had destroyed.

He leaned in, placing a knee on the car's seat, looking from my lap to the floor in frustration. In all honesty, I had been partially tempted to mess with his seat settings at the very least. Maybe see what was in his glove compartment. Smoke a cigarette. Kick my feet up on the dash. Be an asshole.

But, that'd make for a poor first impression.

"Oh, nothing~." I sang in such a way, sounding both innocent and tauntingly coy as he continued to search.

He could already tell by my voice what an ass I meant to be, but to less suspecting individuals, I was just being honest. His sister looked on in confusion, standing by the passenger's side where I sat. She usually road shotgun.

"Hi!" She knocked on my window, pulling a sweet face.

"Are you a pirate?" Her voice was muffled through the glass.

She lifted a finger, using her index to point at an eye. My eye. The one covered by a patch. She seemed a bit dumbfounded, seeing the 'pirate' in her seat, dressed in finely tailored clothes instead of swashbuckling gear, like torn fabrics and scurvy. My smile widened.

"Well, hello there!" I laughed, acting surprised by her presence. I waved at her through the glass, charming as my gaze met hers.

She'd be an easy target.

"**Hey**! 'Bill'!" Pine tree's voice just oozed with disgust, saying that name.

I could almost see the quotation marks that encaptured it. Something wonderful crawled through me, hearing my name come out with that tone. It gave me chills! I turned to view him with unspoken superiority, slowly meeting his gaze, as though to say I didn't have to listen to him, but I would since I felt like it.

"Yes?" My head tilted endearingly, softly placing my cheek in my palm. I'd have to seem poised for this part.

"Mabel's seat. Move." He pointed to where I sat, now seated himself after reluctantly approving of the car's current condition. His voice mimicked the one just hours before, when we fought over his desk. This time, he seemed to hold some weight behind him. His tone was bloodied in stern authority, making a point of sounding strict. Something I would have rolled my eye at.

But, again: Manners.

I paused for a moment, seemingly mulling over his statement in confusion, before snapping to life.

"Oh!" I gasped simply. Pine tree jumped a bit, shocked by my abrupt remark. I turned to open my door, stepping out with the courtesy of a gentleman.

"I'm so sorry! I had no idea!" My voice was light, though sincerely remorse. I locked 'eye' with Shooting star, making sure to look genuinely ashamed of my actions.

But, of course~! I should have offered my seat up to the nice lady~!

I moved out of her way, taking the edge of the door in a show of holding it for her. With a slight bow, I waited for her to take my spot.

"Please. Have a seat." My voice was controlled. Mature. Just short of snobbish and hopelessly generous. I almost wretched at my own tone. She, on the other hand, was completely taken back by my action. Placing a hand over her mouth sheepishly, her cheeks began to glow with a tint of pink.

**Gotcha.**

"Such a gentleman pirate!" She giggled, sliding in. I closed the door for her, moving to the back seat. I entered just in time to hear Pine tree's disgusted groan.

"Dipper! You didn't tell me you knew pirates!"

"He's not a pirate, Mabel. He's-..." Dipper paused, grimacing as the word clogged his throat. Instead of finishing his statement, he grumbled, put the key in the ignition and started the car. I leaned forward, squeezing between seats to become equal with them.

"I'm his new partner. William Angle, but please. Call me-"

"Bill. Yeah, okay we get it. Now zip it."

"Woah! Hey, Dipper. Not nice, bro. What's gotten into you?" Shooting star scolded, earning a scoff from the other. He rolled his eyes, pulling off of the curb to begin the drive. She turned around to face me.

"Don't take it personally. He's been on edge lately." Her eyes were reassuring as she smiled at me. Shooting star took her hand, placing it awkwardly against my leaned in chest, offering it up to me.

"I'm Mabel! It's nice to meet you." I could have purred, taking her hand in mine. This was going to be so easy! With a soft smirk, instantly fond and open, I pecked the back of her hand. Her breath hitched for a moment, only to let out an adoring squeal.

"A-hee-hee!" She went, pulling it away with a bashful expression.

"You scoundrel."

Dipper let out a low growl. His hands rolled against the wheel, putting us on the main road. I smirked at Shooting Star, watching in amusement as her grin widened, now rosey at the cheeks.

She was already smitten.

But, of course she was! Last I checked, Shooting Star fell head over heels for the first guy to show even slight availability! It was just a means of playing off of her bad tendencies. I'd have her body count soon enough. Not to mention, it'd tick Pine Tree off like crazy!

Just as suspected, when looking away from her, his eyes were already glued to me from the driver's seat, reflected by his mirror. He made no effort to break contact, but instead darkened his glare once my attention was given. Dipper's pupil's shrank, meeting my gaze with a warning that was nothing short of "Don't you fucking dare." I winked at him.

"Ooh! Dipper, let's try that new joint that just opened up!" Shooting Star went. Pine Tree's ears visibly perked up at her statement. Not because it caught his interest, but because he had completely forgotten she was in the car. He shifted a bit, eyes dilating as her voice cut through his furious thoughts. His glare reluctantly moved from me, now viewing her out of the corner of his eye.

"Huh? Oh. Uh, yeah. Sure." He spoke with confusion, almost uncertain of what she had suggested, now pulling into a different lane. She cheered, bouncing in her seat as the restaurant came into view.

"I hear they've got a playplace inside!"

"Uh, Mabel. Those are for kids eight and under. Remember the last time you tried to get in one of those things? You got stuck in the tube." Dipper laughed a bit at his statement, eyebrows furrowing in disbelief.

A smile crept over his lips, though tamed and mature while I remained in the vehicle. I'd bet money he considered people like her a weakness, and it didn't help showing that off in front of me. Well, he was doing a horrible job of hiding it! She raised a hand to him, shooing his comment away.

"Psh! That tube was way too small! It must have shrunk since we were kids. I could hardly get my shoulders in!"

"The plastic didn't shrink, Mabel-"

"Onward, to the restaurant!"

He snorted, rolling his eyes, only to pull into the drive thru. It was a shiny little spot, newly polished and well-paved against the rustic backdrop of Gravity Falls. It, unlike the older eateries in town, was coated with a fresh layer of paint. Red cherry gloss road along buffed stones, placed on the walls professionally, while wide windows showcased customers eating and drinking and laughing mindlessly.

Pretty posters of sharp, clean, thin families were plastered to the outsides, displaying how your dysfunctional family could be saved by having just a nibble of their food! The car pulled up to a rectangular hunk of metal, complete with a voice box and blank screen. A young woman spoke from the other end, addressing herself as 'Stephanie,' ready to take our order.

She sounded mind-numbingly bored, a sobering figure meant to lower any expectations you had before hand. Messing up an order, or calling you 'sir' when you were a 'ma'am' would no longer seem so shockingly offensive. Just something more to expect from a fast food restaurant.

"Do you know what you want?" Pine Tree turned to his twin, still mulling over her options.

She let out an obnoxious 'hmm', puckering her lower lip in contemplation. Her hand went to her chin, cupping it with an intense expression across her face. Her brow furrowed, hissing between her teeth as the options became overwhelming.

From what I could tell, they were just bigger burgers with higher prices. Maybe more lettuce? Extra cheese? Human food was so stupid! I controlled myself, instead focusing on the drinks. I would kill for an eyeball cocktail right about now.

"Hmm... What do I want..?"

"It's not rocket science, Ma-"

"Shh! I'm thinking!" She went silent after that, once again looking at the menu board with determined eyes. Dipper just sat there, huffing as her eyes slanted in concentration, only to lean in on the monitor.

"Three cheese burgers, please."

"Aw, what?!" She groaned. He rolled up the window, driving to pick up their order.

"But, I wanted a milkshake!"

"Then you should have asked for a milkshake."

"Booo! Geez, Dipper. You're such a mom sometimes, you know that?" She stuck out her tongue with crossed arms, giving him a pissy look as he laughed.

"I wish mom could've heard you say that. You'd never hear the end of it."

"Ha! Tell me about it! Mom's crazy." They laughed, keeping their personal experience unknown to me.

For a moment, I became undeniably frustrated with myself. I had no way of entering their minds! Not while conscious, at least. There was something so degrading about being the "King of the Mindscape," while also being kept from it. I leaned in between the two, Dipper's laughter instantly dying away, looking at Mabel with false casualness.

"Oh~! Does someone have mommy issues?" I mused.

In reality, I just wanted to pick at their brains. Maybe pull some new information out of the two. I could no longer just read their minds and go "Boom! Got you where I want you!" I'd have to... **Ugh**... Investigate them. Like a human.

I made sure to train my face, keeping away the scowl that tugged at my lips. Shooting Star laughed even harder at my remark, throwing Pine Tree a glance instead.

"Try daddy issues-!"

"Mabel-!"

"Dipper hates John-!"

"**Mabel**!" Dipper barked, snapping his neck to look at her incredulously. He almost looked hurt, though she didn't have the mind to notice.

"Oh, John? Who's that?" I asked innocently. He gave me a bitter look.

"None of your business-"

"Our step dad!" She remarked fondly.

And, it was with great distress that I worked to decipher her response. Was that real fondness, or just a Shooting Star response? Automatic? How close were they? What was their relationship?

"Will you shut it, Mabel?"

"Hey, don't get all cranky. I was just answering his question-"

"So, you're parents are divorced." I stated matter-o-factly, facing her with neutral features.

She nodded with a wide smile, though her movements became slower by just a millisecond. Her body language stammered momentarially, throwing her for a loop. It must have been a touchy topic. Perfect! A whole new can of worms to open with Pine Tree later!

"Yup! They split a few years back. But, it's cool! John's nice-"

"Okay. Can we make an official rule not to talk about him in the car? I'm losing my appetite."

"You always say that!"

They began to bicker, not even stopping as the man at the window handed them their food. No. They just kept going at it, parking the car and talking back and forth without a break. Honestly, it was entertaining! They were giving out a lot of personal information, and it wasn't even like I was there anymore! I could just sit back and take notes.

Mabel's face soured, looking at him like a newborn baby with squinted eyes and a shrivelled nose. She gave him a dirty look, something he responded to by firing back his own expression. Her lips curled inwards, giving herself a moment before retorting.

"Yeah? Well, I'm not the one that went to live with dad!" Shooting Star's tone was callus. Hurt.

She reached into the brown paper bag, pulling out a burger, ripping off the wrapping and taking a heinous shark bite out of it. I almost laughed, watching as she continued to defend herself, now muffled by the blockade of beef and bread.

"In Nuw Work!" She barked in disbelief, her meal distorting each word. A tiny bit of cheese flew from her mouth, landing on the cuff of her sleeve. She was quick to flick it away, grumbling as she did so, before taking another bite.

"Would you quit talking with your mouth full?"

Mabel scowled, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She bit into it again, this time making a show of smacking, brown gunk mashing around awkwardly. Pine tree sneered, averting his eyes while I contain my laughter.

"Bleeeh." She went, sticking her tongue out, showing it off as he continued to ignore her.

In that instance, I found myself having the time of my life! She was just the kind of stupid I had missed from this town! Leaning forward, I grabbed my burger and began copying her actions. Pine Tree's ears perked up, hearing my wrapper unfold and crumple between my fingertips. He knew what was coming.

"Bill, I swear to Jesus-"

"Bleh!" My cheek pressed up against the edge of his seat, forcing his shoulder to push into his window.

He shied away from me in shock and disgust, a look of disbelief evident on his features. His hand went up, catching me by the chin and shoving my head backwards, snapping my mouth shut with a 'clack.'

"Quit it!"

Shooting Star burst into laughter, looking at me with an open mouth, bits of burger still visible.

"Oh my God!" She cackled, doubling over in her seat at my actions.

Yes.

She'd be easy.

"That's hilarious, Bill!" Her hand went to knock at my shoulder, congratulating me on my job well done.

"**Gross**, Bill! What the fuck..?"

Their contradicting responses meant nothing to me. Both reactions were favorable in my opinion. I laughed a little myself, locking eyes with Pine Tree as I did so, once again giving him a "wink" before swallowing my bite. His features hardened, eye twitching as my cockiness continued to skyrocket.

After that, Mabel and I were like two peas in a pod. On the way back to the craft store, we did nothing but talk. About work, interests, and just about everything that popped into her head. She was weird! Funny, too! It was a wonder how the two were related.

Pine Tree said nothing, hunching over and growling as he drove along. The kid didn't touch his burger. He was too pissed to indulge himself. I only scoffed at his moodiness, viewing him like a toddler. If there was anything he could learn at this age, it was fun. He took himself so seriously! Not that I minded much. It was easier to rise a reaction out of him that way. But, honestly! He needed to chill.

He dropped Shooting Star off, promising to pick her up at six. There seemed to be an unspoken forgiveness between the two, as well as a sort of sadness. Something that still lingered as she stepped out of the car, onto the wet pavement.

"Alright. See you tonight, them." She waved, watching us pull out of the parking lot and ride away. Her smile was wide, flexed by strong muscles and glossy lips. Her eyes still shined, seeing the tail lights fade away down the road. But, her brows. That was the tell. They dropped a bit, wrinkling her forehead pitifully.

I almost groaned, rolling my eye at her hopeless display of discontent. It was too potent, her loose grief, and it left a sour taste in my mouth. Well, that wasn't any fun!

Grow some balls!

I sighed, tutting my tongue in disappointment at how sensitive she was! She didn't even say she was upset! Humans, I swear...

I looked over at Pine Tree, now silent and stone faced. If he didn't watch himself, he'd be as wrinkled as ol' Fordsy by his thirties! Now, that'd just be a waste of a face. Not that he was going to last that long.

I had since moved to the front seat, now side by side with my little partner. I made a show of watching him, propping my chin up in my palm, waiting for some kind of reaction. He didn't look at me, only viewing the road.

"I know what you're doing, Angle." Oh! The puppet spoke!

"I'm not letting you anywhere near Mabel. You got that? Stay away from her."

I bit the inside of my cheek, hoping to block my next stream of cackles, only for the pain to add to the pressure. He thought he could keep me away?! Him?! That was rich!

**He was no match for me.**

I paused for a moment, as though to take his words into account. He was so weak. There was nothing he could do to pose a threat to me. Mabel was in no way safe under his watch, or anyone else's for that matter. The helpless situation he was in just made me giddy! This wasn't like last time. I wasn't in a different world, trying to make it into a completely new realm of existence. I was here, with them, sitting and having lunch.

Everything would go smoothly.

"Oh? And why not?" I leaned in on my elbow, the tip of my nose just a centimeter from his cheek. His eyes met mine, unprepared for my gain in proximity. And, in that instance, I caught a whiff of something that blew my mind.

Oxytocin.

Just a sliver. A quick snippet. Small. Irrelevant. Pushed away and destroyed almost instantly. But, it had been there. In those eyes of his, it was buzzing like a hummingbird. His face was just slightly brighter than before, seeing me close now. For an instance, I noticed attraction. A bodily connection, and even longing. Just as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone. Perhaps he had been doing it since our meeting. There was no way to be sure. The expression had been wiped away automatically.

"Uh-" He began, leaning away from me. His face fell into its usual scowl, now composed and ready for my advances. But, it was too late. I had seen it.

Something came back to me. A simple nothing I had skimmed over long ago, back when I was still my wonderfully angled self. I had seen something in that mind of his. A tiny blip on my radar, marked with confusion and curiosity from the preteen yet to hit puberty. It was nothing much. Nothing I had cared about, at least.

Just some pieces floating around in his clustered head. Questions. Wonders. What ifs.

Greyed images of Wendy. A distorted face. Limbs, sharper. Chest, broader. Chin, stronger. An odd misinterpretation of her appearance, considering he was obsessed with her! She was far more slender than that! That chest wasn't nearly as flat, and her hair was definitely longer! I paid little mind, instead brushing it aside. Humans were dumb, after all.

But, now. Seated in this car with him, sensing the involuntary flexes of attraction that dissolved as he scowled, something became very apparent to me.

"You know why! No way in Hell am I letting you take advantage of her. You'd be a shitty boyfriend, anyways." He spoke with resolve, as though to finalize his own thoughts. I smirked, once again leaning in on him.

"You don't say." My hand went to grab at his arm rest, coming far closer than before. His eyes widened, breath catching in his throat as I grinned.

"Well, that's just plain rude, Pines." My cooing vocals reached a pair of open ears, though I'm sure he preferred not to listen.

"I bet I'd be a great boyfriend! Maybe even her best one!" Pine Tree scoffed involuntarily, almost gagging at my statement.

"Ha. Not a chance. If Mabel ever considered people like you dating material, I'd think she was crazy. I mean, she's seriously been stepping up her game. I don't think I've disapproved of one in a solid year! And besides, they were all way more attractive."

'Well, I'm good enough for **you**, apparently.' I wanted to say.

I almost 'awed' at him, reading his insult like a huge compliment. He was being defensive. Mabel was bringing home guy after guy, each one handsome and fitted with good personalities. I'll bet he's talked to a few of them. I'll bet he's liked some, too! Subconsciously, of course. The guy couldn't make it too easy for himself and just admit it! Why would he do that? He loved a challenge!

He knew I was a catch! That's why he told me in advance what a slim chance I had. He wanted to scare me away from her. Because he knew she couldn't resist. He knew I was trouble. Or maybe... Just maybe... He didn't feel like having me around for too long. It could make things... complicated.

"Well, you certainly had an eye out for them." He groaned at my pun, looking away from me. I continued to lean in.

"You weren't by any chance... jealous of her, were you?" His face went pale, staring at me in disbelief. I began to break into a smile, feeling triumphant, only for him to blow a raspberry and laugh.

"What the fuck? No!" He took his hand, pushing me away by the chest, shaking his head as he continued to chuckle.

"Jesus Christ. You must be the dumbest partner I've ever worked with. Put your seatbelt on, weirdo."

I wasn't sure whether to be insulted by his 'dumb' comment, or flattered by the 'weirdo' one. In the end, I chuckled a bit too, making Pine Tree's own fade away.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure. Well, in that case, tell Mabel I'll see her later."

"No, you won't." He grunted, pulling up to the GFPD. So, maybe he didn't like me. Yet. But, there was definitely something there. A primal attraction. I was attractive, after all! Easy on the eye, you know? And, if I played my cards right, maybe I could regain my old puppet! Trick him into working for me. Use a bit of that manipulation. Deceive him. Use him. It would take some time, but with hard work, he'd be falling before me in no time.

I stepped out of the car, taking a deep breath, and felt the waves of oxytocin flow in.


	13. Good In A Bow Tie

I stood at the end of a hallway, viewing the figure that floated before me. Old, smoothed oak floors creaked below my feet, making even the slightest motion audible. The corridor was pitch black within the caging walls of distorted family photos and paling paint, which curled and rotted off of the aging wooden boards. I braced myself against them, working in anguish to keep my legs from giving out beneath me.

My breath came in pants, knees shaking as I shivered violently. I could see each intake of air rush from my lungs, floating before me as a frosted white cloud of chill, my bare feet turning to ice as I stared. I came down with a tremor, body convulsing as I stumbled away from the being ahead of me. My eyes remained trained on his triangular back, an ominous shadow that only hovered, singing a distorted song I did not know.

"B-Bill..." My lips remained closed, and yet the name was found, cast into the air and poisoned my senses. He said nothing, continuing his peaceful song, though deepened and slowed to the point of insanity. I became weak, pained in my stomach as desperation absorbed me. "N-no. This- this is a dream!" I spoke, my words echoing back at me in what sounded like a distorted cry of suffering. I backed away, hoping to create an insurmountable distance between us, only for the space to shrink. The floor below me shifted, and I was suddenly being pulled towards him by the very ground. Panic rose, hearing his voice near as I was forced to advance. I tried to turn and run, only to feel something like static push against me. Like an invisible wall. The edge of a game screen. Bill's game screen.

I gripped the roots of my hair, hearing that nauseating tune grow closer and closer.

"Wake up, Dipper!" I screamed at myself, slapping my cheeks beat red. "This isn't real! Wake up!" I coward, folding into myself as the inches continued to dwindle away. I was close now, able to reach out and brush the tips of my fingers against his top hat if I wanted to. But, I didn't. I wanted to get out of there. Get away from him! I wanted to wake up, wake up, wake up! And still, I drew near. Slowly, at a slug's pace, his body began to turn.

Agonized, ruined chants of damned souls and crying children and weeping mothers and begging men assaulted my hearing as I looked on, keeping a shriek of terror at bay only by the frozen fear that stole me. His inky black form began to drip, splattering thick dots of dark slime, dribbling plentifully as though to flood the room. The drops remained for a moment, lifeless and staining, only to sprout row upon row of thin, talloned legs that scurried across the floor and over my feet. Centipedes. Roaches. Even fat, hairy caterpillars crawled along, dragging out black lines wherever they went.

Beyond Bill, I made out the crimson burn of hell fire. Human forms, charred and writhing in agony, seemed to flail against the backdrop of sulfur and tears. There were screeches of pain, of anguish, of pleading forgiveness. Bare, naked children wondered hopelessly, trying in despair to swat the flames from their ever-growing hair. Women broke into sorrowful wails, dropping to their knees, looking to the dark skies in hopes of redemption. I heard swearing, blasphemy, and begging moans crawl along the walls, wrapping around my neck to pull me in. Pull me closer.

His body continued to turn, not yet facing me, still singing his song of revenge. It had slowed down to an unimaginable pace now, dropping an octave each time the melody was stalled. I clamped my hands over my ears, nails digging into the thin structure of cardalig, palms squeezing my lobes to the point of popping them. "It's just a dream, Dipper. It's just a dream. It's just a dream. Wake up. Wake up. Wake up!"

"**We'll meet again.**" His voice buzzed like static, dropping to an indecipherable tone, and yet I understood. I could just make out the corner of his eye, burning red against his black form.

"**Don't know where-**" I began to hyperventilate, his body not yet angled towards me, but close. His eye was void of a pupil, baring a bloody orb of uncontrollable rage. I snapped my eyes shut but could still see everything. Like I wasn't in my own body, instead watching from a TV set. Like a horror film I couldn't look away from. I begged myself, the self that was watching, to turn the cable off and go to bed! Change the channel! Watch something else! Anything else! Just, please!

"**D-o-n-t-k-n-o-w-w-h-e-n-**" His voice stuttered like a broken record, warbled and distorted with devious intent. He came face to face with me, his demonic figure still dripping and squirming and hovering and singing. The hellfire rushed past him, burning and crackling as it chewed away at the wooden walls, causing the crowd of people within to chase after it. The damned and tortured filled the hallway, scratching at the wallpaper, ripping at their own flesh, and bashing their heads against smoldering wood. I wrapped my arms around myself, keeping a distance as they fought to climb over each other, hoisting themselves above the flames.

I felt nothing. No burns. No pain. Simply an uncontrollable wave of aghast sorrow and helplessness. And, among the dead, I was sure I could make out tufts of brown hair, cut to shoulder length and held back by a hairband. She bawled in pain, kitty-cat clip ons puncturing her own scalp, digging in and ripping away chunks of flesh and hair. This time, I did shriek, rocking myself on my feet as my head lowered and began to shake.

"**Nononononononononononononononononononononono**." My eyes watered against the bite of smoke, as well as my sister's bitter cries. I shook, refusing to see her anymore, only to feel a cold hand grip my shoulder. I didn't look up, only screaming and weeping as those thin, black fingers felt my skin. His flesh absolutely crawled with the tiny feet of squirming insects and ink. I felt something long, with millions of little legs, march along my skin. Up my neck, along my chin, across my cheek, over my eye, trailing its way through my hair and down to my ear, where it slowly slipped its way in. But, I didn't move. I couldn't.

The ground seemed to shake, crumbling beneath me as the flames turned blue. Suddenly, the screaming was gone. Silenced. The bodies were now piles of ash, scattering about and floating through the air I breathed. That chilled hand only seemed to drop in temperature, tightening its grip as a single, vengeful command was given.

"**Suffer**."

The floor gave out below me, and I found myself falling into a pit of light.

[]

My body lurched against the sheets, arms pushing me from my place on the mattress. Panicked, I jerked off of the bed and to the floor, fingers instinctively pressing against my ears once more. My body scooted to a corner, toes curling inwards and knees tucking against my chest while my eyes remained trained on the other side of the room.

"...Wake... wake up..." I told myself, still well versed on my chant. I sat there with my back against the wall, waiting for something to happen. For Bill to morph into existence. For slick, black bugs to crawl across the floor and into my ears. For Mabel to burst through the door, burned alive. But, the room was silent. I worried my bottom lip, body wiggling in place as I concentrated on the situation. Taking a deep breath, I slowly lifted to my foot. I slid up, using the wall as a prop, mumbling to myself small words of encouragement.

"This-... This is real, right?" I felt at my clothes, rubbing the fabrics and stretching it out for my viewing. My shirt had a square, peach shade of clay on the cover with two fat round eyes and a red nose. It was an album cover for Micropop, something I wasn't allowed to wear around Mabel. Jack Stauber was all about claymation. I loved his music, but being that she wouldn't have it, I only wore them as PJs. I was awake.

I let out a sigh of relief, patting my cheek in reassurance. My skin was wet against my palm from both sweat and drool. Or perhaps tears. I tried not to linger on it, brushing myself off with an air of embarrassment. I'd been having the same nightmare for almost two weeks now, with Bill singing that same song. And, if that wasn't bad enough, I still couldn't tell if it was really Bill, or just my mind's conjuring. Was he in my head, or was I in my own? I checked my nightstand, a clock ticking rhythmically at '7:23.' Mabel probably wasn't up yet.

Not that I'd tell her about my dream, but it might be important to see if she's been experiencing them as well. I didn't like to think he was only messing with me because of being his "puppet." No. Never again. I am nobody's puppet. Carding a hand through my hair, I took a glance around the room. My bed sheets were in shambles, tossed about and sideways on my mattress, making a crumbled up pile of cloth that was nothing short of messy. I had always been an "active" sleeper. Mom used to badger me about making my bed in the mornings, saying it was a good habits, along with cleaning my room, brushing my hair, and a whole bunch of other boring tasks. But, I never saw the point. I'd just mess them up later, right?

I picked at a corner of my blanket, entertaining the idea of tidiness, before letting it fall from my fingers. I'd do it later. Maybe. Probably not.

No. I wasn't going to do it.

I looked to my empty hamper, unwashed clothes lying on the floor before me, not even close when being tossed towards the basket. I had gotten much better about laundry. It was one of the many life skills mom had shoved down my throat, fretting the day I would move out and go off to college. Funny, considering I never went. The news almost killed her, finding out from dad. But, it didn't matter.

Dad didn't really mind. He told me college wasn't for everyone, which was great, considering I'd almost eaten an entire supplies of shirts, worrying what I was going to do with my life. I had other, better plans anyways. Besides, if mom wanted to scream at me for skipping out on it, she'd have to take a five hour flight to New York, knock on dad's door, and ask him politely if I was in. And, there was no way in hell he would have sold me out like that.

I picked up one of my white button up shirts, trying to remember if I had worn it already. If it was close to the hamper, that probably meant I had tried chucking it in. If it was by the bed, I might have worn it once, taken it off before sleeping, and just dropped it on the floor. This one was kind of in the middle... I put it on, buttoning the cuffs before starting on the main line. I slid on my black slacks, zipping them up before searching for my vest. It was always on my desk chair. Next came the tie, but I couldn't tie it until Mabel was up. She was the only one who knew how to. I hung it around my neck for the time being, letting the flaps lie untwisted.

Looking to my bedroom mirror, I ruffled my hair a bit, trying in vain to keep my curls down. Before the hormones and growth spurts, it only tangled. My hair used to be a simple brown, frizzing at the edges, turning upwards near the tips, lying otherwise flat across my forehead. It was so easy to manage, I never bothered with hair products or maintenance. Just snap on a hat and be gone. But nowadays, my head was curl upon stupid curl, forcing me to put in some effort, less I look like an addict. Puberty had done some shitty things to my body.

I pulled softly at the strands, curtaining them over my forehead until I had a swoop of hair to cover my birthmark. My shoes sat at the doorway. I slipped them on, tugging at the laces and tucking them under the shoe's bill. I hardly ever bothered with tying them anymore. It seemed doing anything that wasn't Cipher-related had become time consuming, and I always got anxious if I thought my efforts were better spent elsewhere.

Stepping out of the room, my nose instantly caught onto the faint scent of something sweet. Which, for a moment, was pleasantly encouraging. It was an odd surprise, noting the air's soft melt of butter and sugar, light and charming. Was Mabel making breakfast?

Wait. No.

Mabel can't cook.

My neck hairs prickled up at the thought, instantly putting me on alert. Either Mabel had cracked open a cook book and actually followed the instructions, or a burglar had ransacked the apartment, stolen our cash, and decided to catch a bite to eat before booking it. And honestly, I wasn't sure which one sounded more far fetched. I was cautious with my footing, keeping my ears keenly tuned to the clattering of plates and turning of faucets. It probably wasn't an intruder. What weirdo would break into someone's house to make pancakes? But, then again, this was Gravity Falls.

And, people were weird as shit.

I heard humming from the kitchen. A song, played low and fondly with the smooth rolling of breaths. It had an oddness about it, almost preformed to the point of excessiveness. Cocky. There was pride in the tone, as though showing off rather than simply humming for the sake of it. But, that wasn't what ticked me off. It was the song itself. It sounded old. Familiar. Why did I know what he was singing..?

He..?

He!

I turned the corner, seeing none other than Bill at the stove, cooking away in such a casual manner, I half-suspected of being in the wrong house myself. He caught wind of my presence instantly, looking over his shoulder with a "pleasant" grin.

"Well, Good morni-!"

"What the fuck are you doing?" I deadpanned, eyes glazing over in cold hostility.

Two weeks. We had been working together for two weeks! In that span of time, I had come across seven different ways of hating a single human being without question. And eleven more describing why you could hate them. To list off a few, he was always fucking around. Holy hell, this guy never not took a break. He even had the audacity to suggest I do, too! It didn't help knowing he always stole my fucking seat, and, while giving me a knowing "wink", would light a cigarette. Not to mention his laugh was annoying. His voice alone made my skin crawl, but that goddamn laugh-!

I made a point of clocking out just as work was done, never parting ways with a "Good night" or "See you later." Because, in all honesty, I didn't want to see him later, and I hoped he'd have a shitty night. And now, he was using my stove, wearing Mabel's bedazzled apron, flipping pancakes.

Fuck me.

He continued to smile, that stupid smirk only working to poke at my temper. Turning away, his voice met me with ignorance.

"Just making breakfast."

"Uh, yeah. I know, but why? Who the hell let you in?"

'How do you know where I live? Why are you here? Who the hell do you think you are?' Those were much better, more informative questions to be asked. But, knowing him, I'd never get a straight answer. He liked dancing around the facts like that.

"Mabel did! She wanted to carpool to work."

"So, what? You're driving her today?" My arms went to cross over my chest, an odd feeling of jealousy passing over me. So, she wanted to ride with him today? Yeah. Sure. Go ahead... Treature.

"Actually, she said you'd drive-"

"Like hell I will!"

Mabel and Bill had clicked almost instantly. It was annoying seeing the person I trusted most hang with a douche like that. And even more so, seeing just why they got along. She was chaotic. He was weird. What could be better than that? A lot of things, actually. Like children with cancer and nuclear warfare. Because, holy shit, they were even worse together. They'd only hear from each other once in a while whenever Mabel visited me at work, or called me on the phone, or just so happened to "accidentally" leave her keys in my bag. Whoops. In those instances, though unspoken, there was this strange static that built up between them. Trouble. Serious trouble. I had tried warning her about Bill, telling her to keep away from him, but she wouldn't listen.

'Hogwash!' Mabel'd say, and though she didn't know what the hell that meant, she was always able to shut me down with it. She'd put a finger up, hush me, making little peeps whenever I tried to object, and twirl away without listening. After a while, I just gave up. It was pointless arguing when she was in romance-mode. Or, at least what she considered romance. There was no way that mutant puppy love was getting in the car!

Bill said nothing of my response, smiling once again. He turned away, sliding a pancake off of the pan and plopping it on a plate. There was a whole stack of them. They smelled good, too. But, I'd rather starve than enjoy anything he put in my mouth. Scoffing, I moved forward.

"Who said you could use our stove, anyway?"

"Again: Mabel... You think she likes a man who can cook?" He smirked with this look on his face, like a prize. Like he was a prize. Because, of course every woman loved a man who could cook. And make her laugh. And dress up in bow ties and freshly polished shoes and reach the top shelf and tie a tie and somehow wink without two eyes. What a dick.

"She prefers mermen."

"I can work with that."

"-Who play guitar."

"Is piano okay?" He sat down on a stool at the isle, sliding a single flapjack off into his hand. Folding it in half, he nibbled at it like a burrito.

"You need to speak spanish."

"French. Close enough."

"And you can't be a complete ass hole." Bill paused, mulling over my statement. He let out a hum in thought, finger tapping at his chin as my words stumped him.

"Well... Every rose has its thorns, I suppose." Bill sighed, looking at his rolled up pancake before cramming the last bit in his mouth. It created a bulge in his cheek, giving off a chipmunk effect as he munched sloppily at it. I stood there for a moment, watching him work at his breakfast.

This was fucked up. Like, really fucked up. Were we actually talking about this? About him trying to court my sister, even though he knew I hated him? Was part of the rivalry between us in him trying to get with her? Because, if it was, that was sort of wrong. No. Super wrong. No guy goes into a relationship expecting to hold hands the entire time. He was going to- This shit was weird. He was weird. There wasn't a chance he was getting near her. Not with me around.

"Good morning~!" Mabel's chipper voice cut through my heated thoughts, making me jump from her presence. I turned to look at her in the hallway, wearing her iconic Shooting Star sweater, as well as her favorite skirt. She used to tell me it made the mood 30% more romantic. Please, God no. Her smile widened, seeing how Bill and I were "chatting," misreading that horrible conversation as a possible wall jumped. Nope. Wall still intact. And tall. With a mote of alligators and spikes and a fire breathing dragon covered in barb wire and a sniper placed three rooftops over, just in case all other methods failed.

"Hey there!" Bill beamed back. "We were just talking about you!"

"Aw~! You guys missed me?" She cooed, feigning bashfulness. "Sorry for the wait. I was just getting dressed. You find your way here okay?"

"Yup. Key was right where you said it'd be." Bill stood from his stool, giving me a side glance. Okay. That comment was definitely meant for taunting. What did he intend on doing, now that he knew where we hid the spare apartment key? Well, that's exactly what he wanted me to wonder. And I did. Glaring at him with an unrivaled hatred, I pondered the statement ringing through my ears. Because he loved leaving me little treats. Puzzles. Things he said that could mean one thing, but could also mean something else. Like, he didn't say he was going to use that key and sneak into our apartment to see Mabel while I was asleep or working late. But, damn it. That's exactly what I was thinking.

'You stay the fuck away from her you hear? Shit bag screw you screw you screw you.'

His eye left me, satisfied with the rotten look on my face, addressing Mabel now. There was a distinct shift in her stance, noticing his attention on her. She hardened for a moment, becoming straight as she stood, shoulders rolling back and lips pulled into a smile, eager to please. I almost puked. But then she softened, putting herself at ease where she was. Her eyes dulled a tad, wiping away the lingering glint of excitement.

"We should get going soon, don't you think? Place gets real busy real fast, and we don't wanna fall behind on our workload. That whole Bill-thing's got the GFPD running nuts. Wouldn't you say, Dippy?"

"Don't call me 'Dippy', bastard."

"Oh! There's that language of his again. Now, how'd a youngster like that pick up such a mouth?" He said, speaking more to Mabel than to me. He wagged a finger my way, tutting his tongue, and there was nothing I would have loved more than to bite off his damn index. It'd probably go 'crunch!' Real easy, and it was right in front of me.

"You sound like an old man." I opted for the less extreme response, keeping my mouth to myself. Who knew where his fingers had been, anyways? "Where do you get off telling me how to talk?"

"Just a friendly tip, pal. You're not real charming when you mouth off like that." He moved a bit closer, though staying far enough away to seem playful. Nothing hostile. No advances. Just talking. Right. "Keep it up, and you might find yourself getting what you deserve."

"Is that a threat?" Not that I was threatened. I wasn't. Not even a little. The guy stood a good three inches taller than me, with a mobster haircut and mysterious eye patch. Maybe one day I'd ask about it. How he lost it. Must have been a gruesome tale. But, not today. Today I was staring back at the ass hole that came into my house, intruded on my work space, and made my life a living nightmare just by breathing. No. I wasn't threatened. Just pissed.

He lifted his hands to me, a look of shock on his features. He took a step back, as though realizing how it looked. But I knew better. This was an act. Like everything else he did, his motions were taken truthfully by everyone but me. What a load of bull. The day I fell for his bologna was the day Waddles sprouted fairy wings and floated off into the sun set.

"Huh? Oh, no no no no no! Of course not! I'm just warning you. Really, though. Not nice to curse, friend. Not at all. I mean, look at me! I'm twenty-eight! You think I go around saying stuff like that? You think I'd kiss my mother with that mouth?"

'Oh, I'll bet you do a whole bunch of shit with that mouth, Mr. Experimental. Go fuck yourself.'

"That's what I've been saying!" Mabel chimed in. Once again, I was shocked to notice her presence. Jesus, she was loud as an air horn, but give her a minute to quiet down, she almost faded into the background. I'd have to remember that, just in case I had some sensitive material to discuss with one-eyed Jack. Didn't want her catching wind of anything too weird. "I don't know what happened! He goes off for a few years of highschool, comes back, and it's like- Boom! Cursing like a sailor!"

"It was New York. Everyone cursed." I said curtly, crossing my arms with a shrug. I looked at the kitchen stove, a clock blinking as fifteen 'til eight. Mabel shook her head in disappointment, hands on her hips as she grumbled.

"Yeah, yeah Mr. Potty Mouth. Tell it to the judge." She turned to address Bill. "Well, mom sure wasn't happy about it. Grunkle Stan seemed kind of proud, but everyone else was weirded out. He'd never been like that before."

"Mabel, go start the car. I'll be down in a minute." I pulled the keys from my pocket, dangling them in front of her face. She pouted.

"Hey! I'm not done yet!"

"Yes you are." I shot back, giving her a look. A perfect expression, telling her how little I appreciated the comments. It was strained, cold. Nothing close to vicious, but something similar. A warning. Of cold shoulders. Of later arguments. Of conflict. Mabel hated conflict, and she'd zip it as long as it meant keeping the good vibes flowing. The keys dropped in her hands, letting out a satisfied little jingle. "I'll meet you in the car." There was a pause, a moment with her eyes staring back into mine, testing the genuine power behind my tone, before sighing.

"Don't take too long." Mabel's voice lowered. She shuffled away, mumbling and grumbling and whining under her breath, slipping her coat on before exiting the room.

"Wow. Cold-blooded, aintcha? You're real snappy today, Sapling. But, then again, you always did have a stick up your ass, didn't you?"

"Will you shut up? What the hell's up with you acting all chummy around my sister, huh? I thought I told you to-"

"To what?" He moved forward, forcing me to step back. It was reflex, nothing more. I wasn't intimidated. Not at all. Not even a little. He just came a bit too close, and I wasn't prepared for it. Yeah. That's all. "Do you honestly think what you say means anything to me? You think you've got some kind of power over me? Huh? Do you?"

My mouth went dry, looking up at him. And I hated knowing I did. When he got this close, I sort of had to look up, no matter how badly I wanted to look down. I bet the guy loved that. He loved that I had to look up at him. Because, more than anything, that told him how far below I was. And he wanted to keep me there forever. Bill viewed me for a moment, a slight grin forming over his lips. He was silent. But, yes. He loved it.

"You've got an attitude, sport. You know that? A real sour personality." His body leaned in and, once again, I moved away. Back, keeping from that strange smirk of his. Something felt off. "You work with a big mouth. You're all about being the bigger man, and you know why? It's 'cause we all know you're not. You're smaller, Dipper. Lithe. But, you don't want anybody seeing you like that, so you're compensating. Is that it? It is, isn't it?" He spoke with resolve. His smirk continued to develop, molding into a confident smile. Another step forward. Another step back. I scoffed, the sound just barely escaping me without tripping up. I almost whined in discomfort, my vocal cords contorting into something strange. He made me feel all kinds of uneasy.

"And what if I am? I'll still kick your ass." He was getting a lot closer than I'd like. His eye seemed a bit sharper, something I'd seen once before on Nature Planet. The lion creeps up on the unsuspecting elk, shoulders rowling back, hips jiggling, ears lying flat against its head. It was ready to pounce. To attack. Consume. Devoir the elk and strip it of everything it was. That's how his eye was. And, beneath my display of hostile confidence, I was shivering. He could eat me alive.

"Hmm. Doubt." Bill said bluntly. He was calling my bluff. Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit shit shit shit. "You don't look like the fighting type... Well, actually, I take that back. I'm sure you could kick some ass if you tried. Just not mine."

"You wanna test that theory?" Dipper, stop talking. Just stop fucking talking. Why the hell are you still talking? **Because if I don't, he'll know he's got me, and there's no way in hell I'm letting him.**

"Aw. You're just full of fire, arentcha? Cute. Real cute! Pretty, even. Something you'd see in a whore. No offence." And that final step he made, far wider and longer than the last two, had me bumping into the edge of the kitchen table. My hands went back to catch me, propping myself up against the smooth ebony. There was a stickiness underneath my hand. Some leftover frosting Mabel had mindlessly wiped away with a napkin. But, the streak still lingered, and it stuck to the base of my palm. This time I shook, only for a moment, before the chill of my mood empowered my expression, willing me to glare.

"None taken." My voice was worn with ice, encouraging an advance. "I'd expect nothing less from GFPD's third-rate helping hands. Couldn't even find someone with two eyes." His body grew a little closer. Just a millimeter. A slight shift. My stomach turned, feeling that small space lost between up. The safeguard meant to seperate us. He was in my bubble. And, in a nervous panic, my mouth started doing what it wanted.

"You think they marked you down at half-price? Was there a sale?" His eye grew lidded, ignoring my comments. Instead, he leaned in a bit more, chest almost pressed against mine. His head lowered, giving me a look of slight indignation absorbed by apathy. I felt like my arms would give out, feeling the air puff from his nostrils. "I bet there was. People don't usually buy damaged goods unless they're discounted. Did you come with the suit, too?" Shut the fuck up shut the fuck up zip it Dipper zip it zip it zip it you're okay this is okay don't freak out just shut up about it and he'll go away get out of there move leave leave leave Jesus Christ will you shut your trap already?!

My lips pursed and pulled. My tongue flexed with a sliver, rolling over my teeth once in a while. I spoke through a daze, not even sure what words passed the last. It didn't matter. He only got closer with each pause; each period. It was a slow, torturous thing, feeling his body close in on me. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but with every inch destroyed, it added another zero to the infinite wait for this to end.

"You're like a pirate Ken, you know that? Pirate Ken. Tall, blond hair, one eye. Does that mean there's a pirate Barbie I don't know about? Haha! Mabel'd be pissed-" Bill's hand ghosted over my waste, and I was suddenly shot with nerves. I caught a glimpse of a memory, sharp and blinding where I sat in the driver's seat, the man next to me blurred and obscure.

No. Don't remember it. It didn't happen. That never happened.

"Do you ever shut up?" Bill asked, lips parting with a wonderfully intoxicating breath, and for a moment, I wanted him to make me. His hands rose, leading their way to my neck, fingernails trailing almost my skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His body was close. Too close. Far too close, and it brought something to me.

[]

The same heat back in highschool. In **his** car. It was rainy that day, storming, and I couldn't walk home. So, he drove me. I never liked him much. Not much at all. But, he was always there. Watching me. Encouraging me. Sending me gifts and advice and ' **I'm here if you need to ** **talk**'s. He never pushed past his status. Never tried to jump the fence between who I was to him and who he was to me. And, I never even considered it. He and I. It never passed my mind.

Until that day.

When the car slowed, and he started fiddling with the dial, even though the overcast messed with the stations. And I looked out the window and thought about my robotics club and journalism, what needed to be turned in on Friday, what was for dinner tonight-

And that hand found my knee .

It was just as warm as Bill's body now. Firm. Unmovable. Unprecedented. Uncalled for. But still there. He turned to look at me from the driver's seat, because he'd pulled off from the road, parking us by the highway. I hadn't noticed. And he studied me, hand rubbing a circle at my knee, before telling me how proud he was. Of my school work, of course. Because I was a bright kid. Always. Always bright. But not bright enough to know what I wanted.

The cars just kept passing by, sending waves of rain flying as they zoomed past us. He got closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. The hand moved up a little, just a little, slow as to not scare me away. Up to my mid-thigh, where his thumb dug into the inner half of my leg, and his hand was firmly gripping me. He was close, just as Bill was now, lips huffing out a single breath.

The man was clean-shaven. Hispanic, with jet black hair slicked back like a gentleman's. Built. Very well built. Something I tried not to linger on. Mid-thirties. Maybe late. You couldn't tell. He smelled like after shave and citrus, as well as something soft. Baby powder, perhaps. It didn't matter. He smelled good. Really good. And, in that moment, he looked good too. His other hand had fallen to slide under my seat, feeling my ass beyond the jeans. A faint recall came to mind, remembering just what he'd said about me a while back. About my body. He said I had a nice ass. And, before that moment, I had laughed awkwardly. Because I knew it was a joke. Because I knew he was just picking fun.

He wasn't. He was telling me what he wanted. And, for a heart stopping moment, I had wanted exactly the same thing. Something came over me. The soft rain drops. The firm hand gripping at my thigh; my rear. The smell. It all filled the car. But, as those lips touched mine, just barely making contact, hardly skin against skin, pink flesh simply perched against the peak of anothers, an electricity shot through me. This wasn't just any man.

This was John.

And, in that instance of realization, I pushed away. No. No, I won't. I didn't. I never did. I never will. Leave me alone don't touch me this is disgusting just stop it stop it stop it! I screamed at him. What the hell was he doing? What the hell was I doing? What the hell were we doing? **He was my-!**

I grew queasy, staring at him. And, of course, he denied it. That wasn't what he was trying to do at all. He wasn't trying to do that. Wasn't trying to touch me. He was already married. To a jewish woman who'd just gotten a divorce; two kids at home. Both going to highschool. One girl. One boy. But, after that day, the jewish woman's son decided to live with his dad in New York. But, not before walking himself home in the pouring rain.

[]

Bill leaned away, satisfied with his craftsmanship. He had tied my tie for me.

"Hmm... Not bad, but-... You know, you might look good in a bow tie." He mused, rustling my hair. I was too frazzled to protest, simply groaning at the contact. My heart beat slowed, viewing that face in front of me. That's not John. He's in California, living it up with Martha M. Pines, raising their two year old son. My half brother. The one that doesn't say much. Never will. Likes construction and Legos. Eats the crust on his toast and doesn't complain. No. No complaining. Too polite. Even at two. After a while, his hand receded, and another smile crossed his lips. But, this one was different. Odd. Like he was gloating. Like he knew something I didn't. Or just something I didn't want others to know. I viewed him for a moment, watching that face of his burn bright with smugness. I was briefly, very briefly, grateful for the distraction he'd provided me, if even for a moment.

"So I've heard."


	14. No God

I sat at my desk, files switching between hands. The yellow folders had been efficiently organized, composed of names, faces, phone numbers, locations, times, years; useful information on the "Bill Dilema," lying right before me. We had received some new intel on possible suspects, ranging from triangular sightings in Maryland to the unusual trend of top hats in Kentucky. It was hard work busting your asses to get the information while also keeping Cipher's resurfacing under wraps. But, it would all be worth it in the end. This could be ground breaking. Still, the files remained unopened, rhythmically sliding from palm to palm as my eyes trailed the slick white labelling.

'File F-34295'

'File G-94053'

'File H-99496'

'Wow. Super interesting. Very cool. Yup. Can't wait to tear into it.'

I took my time, glancing to the left. Bill stood a table away, flicking his finger against an empty test tube, eye lidded and intrigued. His usual smile had dropped, bottom lip puckering out as he stared off into space. 'Tink tink tink!' The tube went. Angle let out a huff, his simple game quickly dissolving his interest. I smiled a little, noting that dopey expression he pulled. He almost wore a new face with it. My hands stopped shuffling the files on my desk, attention momentarially funnelled into his presence.

'Bill's wearing a nice suit today.'

A guy like that tries to look his best every day, I'm sure. But, today he looked especially good. Clean-looking. Standing up straight, hair shining in the sunlight, cheekbones sharp, features relaxed and contemplative. There was a word for him, but I couldn't quite place it...

'Obnoxious?' Well, yes. But, that was just stating the obvious. Not what I was looking for...

Oh.

Handsome. The guy was handsome. Very, very handsome. Unreasonably, unrealistically attractive, with the stench of mystery as a bonus. That eye was shaded, glazed over in an empty churn of darkness. He was quiet for once today, thinking. About what, I had no idea. He was too spontaneous to wage. That black iris of his snapped in my direction, sensing my eyes on him, and I instinctively averted my gaze. Back to shuffling the files.

The car ride over had seemed normal at first, Mabel taking shot gun as I drove. Bill was in the back seat again, leaning forward where he sat, chatting away with my sister. He talked about work, his new apartment, the weather. All manner of conversation. He even complimented Mabel on her tasteful shooting star earrings, proposing a nickname as he cooed at the familiarity. 'Shooting Star~.' He smirked. She laughed. I was quiet, hearing it. Now, that was a freaky coincidence.

'Don't be so paranoid Dipper not so uptight all the time you know what dad used to say no need to get anxious about it just cool off and drive.' My eyes lifted, looking at him in the mirror. Bill was already looking back. He smiled, his trade mark 'wink,' this time followed by something more. Something that almost gave me a heart attack. A slight pucker of the lips. Like blowing a kiss. To say 'Mwah!' A small tease. Silent as it was, fleeting and moved from in an instance, my brain tripped over itself.

All of the sudden, my senses were being flung into hyper drive. I noticed everything in the car. When he leaned in to talk, wasn't it odd the way he placed his hands? Most people would just lean forward, or put them against the back of our seats to brace themselves. But, not Bill. He put his hand right on my arm rest. 'Does he always do that?' I could feel the heat radiating off of him. I could smell his shampoo. The lingering scent of cigarettes, suddenly classy where he sat. His tone was uncharacteristically pleasant. I even listened to some of what he said... All of it, actually.

Whenever I made a turn, I could feel that body of his lean against mine. Just a shoulder, something simple and boney and without affection. Without any real heat, form, or comfort. It rubbed against mine though, far more than it needed to. He didn't even fight the contact. Didn't counteract it with a lean back. And, when the turn was made, he lingered. For just a moment. Not even a full second, that shoulder pressed against mine, cheek molded into the edge of my chair, hand gripping my arm rest, just talking and smiling and laughing. I could feel every vibration. Every breath, transferred from him to me. He'd lean away after that, slowly, each time giving me a look. A shock, sprouting from my eyes and racing its way into my brain, replayed how he'd cornered me in the kitchen. I had half a mind to short-circuit.

When I was certain Bill was back to playing with the test tube, I looked up again. He was bent down now, face more level with the glass cylinder, as though to study it. That finger was no longer flicking it. But instead, he slid the tip of his nail against the glass's length. Starting at the base, feeling the smooth glide of glass against his finger tip, hand guiding it upwards on a slow trail along the tube's trunk. Bill hummed mindlessly, his game now reborn and newly designed to entertain. That index slid to the top, where he rolled his finger along the outer layer of its rim. Around, around, around he went, flesh rhythmically circling the glass opening. Just the edge of his finger slid in. I felt a lump in my throat, watching him and that odd look on his face. Concentrated. He looked amazingly concentrated. What was he thinking about...?

A buzz in my pants' pocket threw me from my thoughts. I flinched loudly, knee coming up to collide with the underside of my desk, face instantly flushing as Bill looked back. He stared for a moment, finger still mindlessly stroking the glass test tube. We made eye contact for a bit longer than I would've liked, the phone's ringing almost dying away. Without acknowledging the situation, I swiveled around in my chair, looking to the window. I pulled the phone from my jeans, pressing the 'answer' button, unaware of who was on the other end.

"Hello?" I asked briskly, acting casual.

"Hey, Dipper. It's Wendy." My fingers went cold. First phone call in almost a week, and I knew she was still hung up on our date. Damn it. "Am I on speaker?" I shook my head instinctively before correcting myself and giving a verbal response.

"No. You're good. What's up?" Who the hell was I kidding? I knew what was up, and so did she. A part of me just didn't want to.

"Well... Hey, so I found two tickets for the fear-a-thon at the theater this week. Front row. Any chance you can make it?" I heard an awkward shuffle on her end, followed by the clearing of the throat. This was her way of fixing things.

"Uh, yeah! Probably. I'll have to check when I'm free, though. I remodeled my schedule to cram in a bunch of work, so it's a little jumbled up."

"Oh. Uh, that's okay. That's cool. We can always just reschedule..." There was a pause. "Um, actually-. Dipper, can we talk?" Here we go again. She wanted to 'talk'. Like we didn't do it every time we got together. Like we hadn't come to a mutual understanding. Like we didn't already tear ourselves apart whenever the subject came up. Talk. Sure. Why can't we just drop it?

"What's on your mind?" Please don't bring it up. Please don't bring it up. Please don't bring it up.

"I- I just- I wasn't trying to pressure you into anything, you know? I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable that night."

"Wendy, it's fine." I said. Because we'd had this conversation before. And she always said the same thing. Everything I needed to tell her had been told, but the topic was still open on her end.

"It's just- I was really set on... Doing stuff. You'd been into me for so long, I just sort of assumed you'd want to, too. It never occurred to me that you might not be-... and I tried to make you-"

"No, you didn't."

"I just want to make sure everything's cool between us."

"It's cool, Wendy. It's cool. I Promise." 'For the millionth time, it's cool.'

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

"Okay. Okay, cool." Another pause. She switched hands. "...I love you, bro. I really do. A lot."

There was that pain again. Right in the pit of my stomach, flashing hot then cold with guilt. And, for the life of me, I couldn't explain why I felt it so violently. Whenever Wendy said 'love,' it was in a friendly way. A little 'I love you, bro!' never hurt anybody. When the word was attached to me, pointed at me, addressing me, it was almost platonically. Because, yes, we were dating. Yes, she loved me. And, yes, I loved her back. But, no, it wasn't that serious. We were messing around. Having fun. Hanging out. 'Girlfriend' and 'boyfriend' just seemed like an extra title. We knew who we were to each other. Wasn't it enough to just feel it without saying it? Apparently not.

The line went silent, and, to my horror, I realized Wendy was waiting for me to say it back. 'Love.' She 'loved' me, whatever that meant. Not in her usual Wendy way. Intimately. Wholeheartedly. With a new passion behind it. One I'd never received from her before, and it made me oddly uncomfortable. It wasn't like her to be so vulnerable. So soft. She opened herself to something that would hurt, and I felt like yelling at her for it. This was out of character. And, who in the hell could back out of saying 'I love you, too?' No one. Not a single person. I'd retracted my affection once before, and that only made our relationship strained. I had learned my lesson the first time. I had to reproduce the same kind of feeling. For Wendy. My girlfriend...

"I love you, too." And that was the end of it. Her line went off, and I was left sitting there, phone in hand, chair facing the window, wondering why I did anything at all if women could just control my decision making like that.

"Who was that?" Bill's head popped out from behind my chair, propping his chin against the seat arm rest. I squeaked emasculanly, curling my lips in at the small noise. For an instance, my heart beat sped, ears burning, brows pinched up reflexively. 'Relax Dipper ease the tension control yourself you just got off the phone he came out of nowhere and now you're talking that's all nothing more **this is normal behavior for you**.' My features softened, only to harden as I looked down at him. He watched me like cable.

"No one you know."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I'm sure. Trust me, you don't." I put two fingers against his forehead, pushing him away with a grunt. He only laughed, rubbing the spot I mashed him at.

"Dipper knows all." Bill got to his feet, hands going to his pockets as that damn smile of his began to form. "In that case, why don't you go out and find that Cipher guy for us? I'm sure he's bored out of his mind, waiting for your slowpoke to catch him."

'Fuck you, Bill.'

"Really? Well, shit, Patchy. It's the same on this end. I'm still over here, waiting for your dumb ass to carry your own weight." I twirled myself around, bouncing from the seat as my hands became planted on my hips.

"Got me there, Dippy."

"Don't call me 'Dippy.'"

"I'll call you whatever I want, Dippy." Bill was a piece of shit. Taking a step forward, he moved in a way that could've easily cornered me. But, I was smarter this time. I countered it, going to the other end of the desk, glaring daggers. It was like a game of chess. One wrong move, and he'd have me pinned again.

"You ever get bored of making my life a living Hell?"

"Not even a little. Part of why I haven't dropped this stupid job is because you're here to be torchered."

"I'm flattered." He moved towards the window. I circled the desk, keeping a solid eight feet between us. "You ever consider doing your job?"

"Maybe one day. If anything interesting comes up. For now, I'm just enjoying the ride."

"I'm sure you are."

"Damn. So sure about everything, aren't we? Must be fun, knowing everything about everyone and always knowing what to do and to say and just being oh so smart. Makes me tingly, imagining what's in your brain."

"Comic books. Some music. Sci-fi films and horror. Mystery novels. And about eight years of tuba." Bill whistled at my response.

"Your sex life must be through the roof. Watch out, ladies! Here comes: The Big Dipper."

"Go fuck yourself."

"I would if I could." I wasn't going to respond to that. It wasn't meant to insult me, and it wasn't directed at me. He was just gloating. Because, this was Bill. Of course he would.

Narcissist.

I stood, staring at his smug face, waiting for the other shoe to drop so I could throw myself over the desk, slam into his body, fling us both out the window, and choke him to death before our flailing bodies went 'splat' against the pavement. God bless Chief Blubs, coming in before any of that could take place.

"Evening, Dipper. Bill. I've got some good news for you two!" Chief Blubs spoke abruptly, mouth opening just as the elevator doors did. His hands went out in a wide gesture, chest puffed and badge gleaming. I stiffened, noting his unprecedented arrival. His voice made a loud boom throughout our station, even Bill flinching at the disruption. "You've got a new case!" He smiled, the genuinely good natured intent in his tone both sweet and sickeningly ignorant.

"Excuse me?" No. No, we don't. We don't have a new case. We have the one case. Bill's case. The whole reason this place has been tight lipped, on lock down, hush hushed about almost everything that went on inside. We couldn't work on anything else. Not until this was solved! "But, Chief Blubs! We can't. We're already working on-."

"Please, help him." Came a weak voice. Older, with a southern drawl, licked by a female's tongue. But, broken. Very broken. Almost to the point of hopelessness. I looked beyond the chief, noticing the cotton hem of a teal skirt sweep behind his shoes. Sandalled feet stood beyond his combat boots, toes curling inwards with both uncertainty and hesitation. The chief cleared his throat.

"Dipper. This is Mrs-... Ms. Lass." He stepped aside, placing a cautious hand on her shoulder. She doesn't shy from it, her form shrivelled and crumbling as it was, but instead pushes it away hastily. "She says she saw a ghost." The woman nodded vigorously.

"I did! I did see one! I swear it!" Her hands went out in front of herself, presenting the scene in her mind. "He was there! On the street! I saw him, I really did! And, he was-! Oh, my poor Derek! He looked so thin! I always used to tell him-"

"Ms. Lass. Slowly, ma'am. Slowly." Blubs soothed, placing his hand on her back. She didn't shake it off like before, but instead tried to draw on its comfort. She took a shaky breath, viewing her reflection in those dark shades of his. While she did, I shot Bill a glance. He was having a real field day with the lady's hysteria. My mind tricked me into thinking he was eating popcorn. But, he wasn't. Simply smiling and nodding, looking the old lady up and down. He must have gotten a kick out of the crazy ones.

"I-... My dear Derek, I saw him. Here, in this town. I'm sure it was him."

"Who's Derik?" I asked. No way backing out of it. No way convincing Blubs otherwise. He loved old ladies. He'd throw my ass to the sharks if it meant home-knit sweaters from every grandma that ever lived. Not to mention he was my boss. Might as well get a head start on the whole situation. The sooner it was over, the sooner I could get back to tracking Cipher down.

"My late husband. He died a while back, under- embarrassing circumstances. I don't feel like disclosing the details."

"Now, Ms. Lass. If they take the case, you do know the information will be-." Blubs began.

"I know! I know! Sorry, I'm still trying to keep a bit of privacy in my life." She snapped. Blubs smiled back at her, warmly. I felt Bill lean in on me while Ms. Lass tried to compose herself, breathing softly into my ear.

"Five bucks says it was a suicide."

"What makes you say that?" He probably just felt like playing with me. It was easy to play with other people's lives, make things up, add false details, make them seem more interesting. But, still. Five bucks? Yeah, right.

"She's a real control freak. You can tell by the way she rushes. She's trying to get the last word in before we have a chance to intervene. And, what's more embarrassing to a control freak than something they couldn't control?" He paused, licking his lips. I shivered. "Not to mention her need for privacy. I'll bet she got a lot of publicity for her husband. Now, she's all about keeping it quiet. A family secret."

"Bill, you're full of horse shit."

"Maybe." He shrugged, leaning away from me. The air in place of him was cold.

"I came here from Tennessee. It was a long drive, so I'm very tired. If it's alright, I'd like to get the details all out and plain for y'all." No one said anything. We simply sat back, viewing her with the fragile watch of a feline. She was high strung as it was.

"Back in October of last year, I received a call from an old friend. John, I think... Or, maybe Dennis? I'm not sure. Derik had a lot of old friends back in the day. It never really bothered me who he dealt with." She took a handkerchief out, swiping at the base of her nose. Her eyes were dry, tone set and well-versed without breaks. Her nose simply dripped out of inconvenience. Not tears. The handkerchief went back to her pocket, where she packed it up with a preordained format of folding, creases already there and lined up. She folded it the same way every time.

"Well, anyways, John or Dennis was on a business trip. To here, wouldn't you know it? Oh, you know what? Maybe his name was Phil... I think it was Phil. Or, was it a woman? I'd hate it if he was friends with a woman. Probably a Debrah or Barbara or something." She paused, humming to herself as a boney white finger tapped against her chin.

"No, no. It was definitely a man... Oh, bother. Either way, he called me. Real frantic-like. Nearly gave me a heart attack. Got my dogs all worked up, they started yapping up a storm. Couldn't get them to quiet down or nothing-."

"Just get on with it, lady." Bill snapped. My lips curled in, shock racing through me at his words. Well, we had all been thinking it. But, still. The woman gave him a dirty look, only to clear her throat.

"Hmph. So, the man asked me if Derek was dead. And, of course I said 'yes'. Why, he'd died almost a year before. He'd been at the funeral, for Christ's sakes! I was almost insulted. The nerve of that guy, forgetting about what'd happened..." I looked over at Bill again, and he was already looking back. Smiling. He looked smug for some reason, but I couldn't tell why. With a subtle show of the lips, he mouthed out the word 'suicide.'

"He started talking crazy, asking about Derek's burial spot, what he'd worn last, if he'd had any unfinished business. Because- and you'll never believe what he told me- he said he saw Derek just north of the diner, walking around fine and dandy. I told him- I said- I said- Oh, what did I say to him, now? I'll bet I said he was coocoo, that's what."

"A real nuts-o, I'm sure." Bill commented. Ms. Lass sniffed at him, averting her eyes with open distaste. He didn't mind, nudging me with a pleased smirk. The bastard was skating on thin ice.

"Yeah. Nuts. He told me to come down here and check it out. And, I'm an older woman. I've got nothing to do, with the kids all up and grown as they are. Might as well indulge in a little trip. I came up somewhere around February. Dang near froze my ears off coming here. It's chilly, ain't it? Yeah."

"Great. That's just great! I'm sure someone as charismatic as you can go all day adding details to this, like what you had for breakfast every day leading up to this moment. But, let me cut you off there; you came here. You saw him. He was alive." Bill was bold once again, arms folding as his unimpressed expression met hers. Jesus. Was he crazy or just a sociopath? You know what? I already knew the answer to that question. And, I didn't like the idea of working with both.

"**No**! No, he wasn't alive! He was a ghost! I know my baby Derik, and that man was a ghost! All pale and thin and cold and- and he smelled like beans! He don't even like beans!"

"Wow. Beans? Oh~. Real ghosty- **Ouch**!" I stomped on Bill's foot before he could say more.

"Where did you see him last?" I asked.

"Oh, who knows? The park? The diner? I can't recall. Happened a full month ago. Maybe the pool. He liked the beach, I think-. Oh, what am I saying? I'm thinking of Peter, our youngest-."

"Ma'am, please stay on topic." 'I'm trying to be nice here but holy shit Nana you never shut up.'

"Of course. Of course. Look at me, old granny flapping her gums again." She let out a laugh, waving a hand at me. "I'm not sure what he's up to these days, walking among the living. It's downright indecent. Sorry about that. Sorry."

"It's alright." I said simply, leaning up against the desk. Bill was grumbling dryly, foot raised for him to rub circles at his throbbing toes. Hopefully next time he'd wear steal tips. Or, don't. I didn't care either way. "Do you have any idea why he might still be among the living? Any final wishes? Last words? Did he hold a grudge against anyone?"

"My Derik? Oh, no. Never was too much for ambitions. He was dull, if I'm being quite honest. The most excitement he got in a day was down at the pond. And even then, he never brought home more than a 4 lb bass. No. He was simple. My Derik was very plain."

"Sounds like a marriage just flaming with passion!" I elbowed Bill to zip it, but he wasn't as easy to clamp down on as the first time. He was prepared for my attack. Nudging past me, he took a wide step to come into view. Ms. Lass stepped back. "I'm sure your wedding night was drop dead fantastic!"

"Bill!" I called. He only waved me off.

"But, let's get past the yapping, Gran-gran. Okay? Okay ." He held out his hand. "Hand it over."

The old woman stiffened, looking at him with the leveled shock of a deer caught in headlights. And, in that moment, I realized the protective guard she held over her purse. Clutching it, clawing it, absorbing herself in the tacky cloth. Those deep indents on the skin hadn't been made so easily, but were procured over time. She held onto the bag for dear life.

"I don't have anything to give to you, slick." Ms. Lass snarled. Bill only laughed back.

"Then give it to my lovely secretary, why dontcha?" He gestured at me, the sick bastard. "I'm sure whatever you've brought us to work with is ground breaking! A real nifty clue! Jinkies!"

"It's not a clue! It's just-... It was the last thing he left me before-... A-and I don't know much about ghosts, but-."

"But, if your little trinket holds any value to him, it'll attract your 'boo' like a magnet, right? Looks like someone did their research!" He praised her condescendingly, even going so far as to clap at her preparation. The old woman huffed, looking Bill up and down with the disbelief of a parent bumping into Santa. Her eyes lingered for only a second, forehead wrinkled with infinite lines, before turning to look at me.

"Would that work, young man? If I brought something he owned, would that help you find him? I thought it might draw him in. He never really had any worldly possessions, so this was the best I had. Real influential part of his life, I'd say." She walked past Bill, not even sparing a glance, before slipping her hand into the purse. Rummaging through the contents for a moment, chapstick, old napkins, stray pens, paper clicks all clunked together, she caught the tip of a piece of paper and pulled it out. With shaking hands, the paper was relinquished to me, but not before giving an odd look.

"I thought, if there was anything he'd be drawn to, it was this. Pretty much his last words, I guess." She shrugged like it was nothing. But, her eyes were cold. Set and heavy, rolling in their sockets like a pair of tires. Her fingers flew to twirl at the stray hairs of her skirt.

I looked at the folded up paper cautiously, flipping it from back to front. It was torn at the edges. Ink bled through it, smearing navy lines along the neon green that streaked the page. It yellowed at each corner, as well as being fragile where it creased, folded and unfolded numerous times. And, at the right hand corner, puppy dog eared and stail, was a brown, crusted stain that I made sure to avoid. Gross. The paper came open easily enough. A few simple words, written sloppily and without real purpose.

'Please, don't cry over me. I'm already dead.' It read. My body instinctively went numb, reading the statement several times in a single beat. I think I owed Bill five bucks.

"... This is a-." I began.

"Suicide note. Called it! Chi-ching!" Bill air fisted to himself, glancing at me with open triumph. "Pay up, doll face."

I only looked at him from the corner of my eye, scoffing as all attention was respectfully returned to Ms. Lass.

"Please ignore my partner. He hasn't taken his meds today. Or ever." The woman nodded solemnly, giving a hum of understanding. Her eyes flickered to the chief, still close and actively listening, giving a face between a grimace, a smile, and a burp. He seemed to straighten as her gaze shifted, offering his arm up to her. She took it with ease, linking her frail fingers around his pudgy dark flesh, before lifting her head to stare back at me.

"That's fine. That's fine. I think I can trust you with this. I do. I think you can find my Derik. And, when you do, please. Would you try crossing him over to the other side?" I would if there was an 'other side.' It all depended on what you believed was the other side. Hey, if you believed 'The Other Side' was an empty void of hopeless, black nothingness stretching out infinitely, your shrieks of misery and loneliness echoing back at you for all of eternity, well damn! You were pretty spot on. At least if you believed what I did. Which sucked for me. Great. Well, I wasn't about to burst Granny's bubble over my pessimism. I smiled, nodding like a good boy.

"I'll do my best, ma'am." That seemed to solidify it. Make it official. She patted my cheek fondly with a grin, as though to acknowledge my acceptance. Damn it. I might have still been able to back out.

"God Bless you." And she was gone, Blubs escorting her out with tender care. Once she was out of ear shot, I whipped around at Bill.

"Bill-." I began. He held a finger up, cutting me off before I could continue.

"No-no-no. Let me guess. 'Bill! I can't believe you said that! You were way too honest with that old woman! We can't go around telling people what we really think! You were supposed to kiss her ass! Why didn't you kiss it?' Am I close? Did I get it in the ballpark?"

"I was going to ask how you knew it was a suicide, asshole."

Even though the other statement was pretty close, too. Hell, we were definitely talking about his behavior later. But, not now. Now, I was oddly intrigued by my slacking partner. Who never picked up a pen, examined any of the evidence, or knew how to use a fourth grade chemistry kit. No, he didn't do his work. At least not the work I was used to. Instead, he just sat there, thinking or talking or fiddling with expensive equipment. I had always presumed he was meant for daily use. Getting the latest on possible breakthroughs. Writing out formulas for DNA analysis. Interviewing suspects. Tracking down associents. Being a common tool in the GFPD's tool box. But, it never occurred to me that he might be a special tool. One you only used once, and one that only worked when work was needed.

Bill looked at me, caught off guard by my abrupt statement. Taking a moment to recollect himself, smiling as a slow hum breezed through his lungs, he dusted himself of nonexistent dirt. It was simply a show of superiority, straightening out his tie and pulling at the base of his shirt. 'Looking sharp, Bill. Real sharp. Now stop jacking yourself off and give me a damn answer.'

"Oh, Dipper." He sighed fondly. "I've already told you before. 'Criminal Mind **Expert**.' That woman was an open book. I could tell you where she hid her sweet Derik's body if she'd done it."

"Did she do it?"

"Ha! That old crone? Not a chance! Murder's a messy business, Pines. Messy! She'd fling herself out a window if her hubby's blood so much as stained the bathroom tiles. Too much energy. Everything'd have to be perfect. And, besides, a woman like her couldn't uphold an image of innocence if she was so high strung."

"And, how can you be sure? What if she's acting?" Bill snorted, tutting his tongue before coming up on me. He wrapped an arm around my waist, jostling my shoulder with the fondness of a father and son. Again, he tried to play a superior role.

"Oh, is Mr. Sure not-so-sure? Trust me, babe. I know everything about the mind. There's nothing you can get past me. Not unless you're God."

"There is no God." I shot coldly, shaking his hand away. He smiled back at me.

"My point exactly."


	15. Bean Paste

I grinned at my TV, eye staring blankly as white static ate through the stations, distorting and breaking down the corny dialogue of morning television. My back hunched forward as I listened to the pleasant buzz, watching the washed out silhouettes of George Lopez, Tim Allen, Bob Saget, burning white against the flickering disruption. I sat on my couch, head resting in my palms, humming to the irregular whisper of electromagnetic noise. The cable had been on all night, my single pupil shrunken and pierced by beams of artificial light as I listened mindlessly to shepard tone. The faucet dripped in the background against the cluster of broken plates I'd ceremoniously shattered in the metal sink, right after plunging all my silverware down the garbage disposal. I didn't need them anyway. This vessel didn't require food. Or sleep, for that matter.

Looking to the window, I caught a glimpse of sunlight peeking past my drawn curtains. It slashed my eye with a sore shine, punishment for being up so late. It didn't bother me. I loved a good punishing. The TV set went off with a click of the remote. Straightening out, I took a deep breath, stretching as a satisfying pop sounded through my shoulder blades. That small bit of light began to grow, seeping through the curtain's thin fabric onto the other end. I squinted my eye against it. Getting up, I closed the blinds tightly, only to flick on the apartment room's light. The place was a mess. But, who cared? It wasn't technically my place anyway.

But boy, had those teens left a mess! On the counter, by the sink under the cupboard, was a single belly-up goldfish, now molded by algy and glassed over with white eyes. Very distasteful. Not to mention the teens' clothes. They'd left in such a hurry, they didn't even pick anything up. T-shirts and shorts, as well as panty hoes and bras were mindlessly cast on the floor or slung over wooden chairs. The place absolutely wreaked of human! I would have to throw the articles away once I found the time. Couldn't have someone snooping around and finding out who used to live here.

That'd just be trouble.

I walked through the kitchen into the hallway, turning left to my bedroom. There weren't many pleasures to be had in this flesh-sack. Not when it ran on neither food nor rest. The most entertainment delivered seemed to be by playing dress up with it. I put on a white button up shirt, crisp and tailored to my masculine form. Some slacks. A pair of suspenders. A black tux. And finally, a yellow bow tie. Snazzy! I was perfect bait for my victims. An irresistible snack!

I drew a tongue over my canines, fingers carding through hair as I admired myself in the mirror. This body was like a wonderfully decorated bear trap, complete with sharp metal teeth and a thick, juicy slab of steak as the lure. Because, at first my intentions had been to snag Shooting star. An enticing meal, of course, couldn't be turned away by such a ravenous, starving beast, deprived of affection. She'd been the obvious target. But, the trap being set strategically, ready to ensnare and capture the elusive creature, was useful in other terms. An unsuspecting fawn had stumbled into the area, and could just as easily be clamped down upon. It all depended on which prey was more attractive for my appetite. Who would those metal jaws catch for me?

I tightened my tie, giving this form an approving once over before heading for the door. It was a four minute walk to work. One I was willing to make. But, not one I necessarily wanted to make. With no car, and having disposed of those kids' RV the night after my resurrection, I'd been on two feet ever since. It was nice, though. Got a lot of appreciative looks from passer byers! A few eyes staring for too long. Heads drifting to watch me, unaware of their own swivels. The involuntary glow of cheeks and expressions, catching a glimpse of that trap, oh so inviting. And, the disappointing fall in their features once I passed them, taking my treats with me. Humans were too easy.

When I got to the laboratory, Pine tree was already there. Seated away from his desk, placed by the test tubes, his face leaning into a fancy microscope, he fiddled with the side dials as a glass petri dish inched closer to his lens. He didn't acknowledge my presence, eyes glued to the pair of metal tubes that magnified his vision. Instead, he leaned down farther, mumbling to himself pointless confusion and small commentary. I contemplated disrupting him. Maybe scaring him out of his thoughts. It was always good fun watching him squirm like that!

"Morning, Dip 'n Dots!" I chirped, hoping to startle him from his thoughts. He didn't so much as flinch, attention fixated on his work. Sighing lowly, he moved from the microscope, scribbling something on a piece of paper before returning his gaze to the small sample.

"It's too early for this shit, Bill." He shot back, tired and vaguely annoyed. How hurtful. I hadn't even done anything yet!

"It's never too early to have a good time! Speaking of which, hows about we skip the work today? Go someplace crazy?"

"I seriously don't have time for this." I moved towards him, pressing my cheek against his to squeeze my single eye into the microscope. "Back up, Bill." He moved out of the way, crossing his arms.

"Whatcha lookin' at, cutie?" I twirled the dials at my side, enhancing the image to the point of blurring. A brown smudge, crusty and dried, paled white at the corners.

"An asshole who wont' get out of my work space. Seriously. Scoot. I'm actually doing work here." His voice held an edge of hostility, lying otherwise flat against his tongue. The kid must have been tired, considering the nightmare I'd sent him last night. Hellfire. Hellfire. Hellfire! What a beauty!

"Ugh! You always do work!" I stood up straight, moving away from the microscope. My head went to look at the ceiling, rolling my eye as I sneered at his professionalism. What a stiff. "Isn't there anything else you wanna do? Isn't there a single bone in your body that's spontaneous?"

"Isn't there a single bone in your body that wants to leave me alone?" He bent back down, face lowering once again. "Just go sit over there. I've got most of the research done, anyway." He jammed a thumb to his desk, a spot I'd personally claimed as shareable territory. Pine tree was never too happy when I sat in his seat. What did I care? He never did anything when I did. And I did. A lot. Because I knew how pissy it made him. But, him offering the seat to me just made it unappealing. Distasteful. I would've much rather played with my toy at the moment.

"...Really, though. What are you doing?" I asked finally, giving him some space. Pine tree paused, jotting down another set of notes on the scrap of paper by his side. He huffed, turning to face me as he leaned against the counter. A gust of Oxytocin smacked me in the face hard as an anvil, his hormones working against him every second I was around. I noticed he'd done his hair today. Real neat-looking, with those pretty little curls soft, organized, shiny and clean. The smooth fragrance of pine needles and lavender enveloped him.

He had cleaned up for me!

He cleared his throat, looking me up and down with a snap, almost too quick to be seen. I smirked involuntarily. "I'm looking at samples from the note."

"Ah, yes. The suicide note. Speaking of which, how are my five bucks coming along?"

"They're not. I'm not paying you."

"Can I trade it in for a service?"

"I'm not doing your work load, Bill."

"I was thinking more along the lines of a blowjob." I quipped.

It was apparent in the tone of my voice that I meant to tease him, and by the way he rolled his eyes, I was sure he knew that too. And yet, thickening like honey for a moment, the scent of Oxytocin became as potent and strained and wanting as anything. A tightening. A squeeze of the faucet, and it was back under control. Pine tree scoffed.

"Are you done yet?"

"Not until you swallow."

"Okay, then." He turned back around, prepared to ignore me and continue his scribbling. I laughed.

"Hey! I'm kidding! I'm kidding! Sheesh, kid. Can't take a joke?" He didn't respond. "Let me hear it. What are you working on? I'm just dying to know. Can you tell? I'm all ears."

"Sure you are."

"I am! Come on! Don't leave me hanging! The anticipation killing me!" It was meant to sound whiny, but by the way it made Pine tree groan in annoyance I couldn't help but laugh. Slowly, taking a side glance at my smiling form, he got back up.

Like a trained dog, I'll teach you to obey your master. Good boy!

He sighed again. "It's got fingerprints all over it."

"What? The letter?"

"Of course the letter. From Ms. Lass. And Derek, obviously."

"Obviously." I mocked. Well, it was obvious. But, being the case, pointing it out just made him sound stupid. Come on, puppet! Give me something juicy. "What? You think the prints are gonna attract the ghost our way? You think it's a nice little beaken?"

"I-... I don't think so, actually. I haven't been seeing any ghosts around, and it's already been three days. If he was in Gravity Falls, don't you think he'd visit us by now?"

"Mmm. Fair enough. Well, what says you, then? You think the ol' fart skipped town? Haled a skeleton taxi and went on the lamb? Think he ascended?"

"No. No, not that. Just-. When someone dies, don't they usually haunt the area they lived in?"

"Died in. But, continue." He rolled his eyes at me, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear before looking away. A smile was creeping up his lip, though faint and small. He liked my little commentary. Another point!

"Well, if he died all the way in Tennessee, why would his ghost be up here in Oregon?"

"Are you saying the old bat was lying?" Because, if he was, that was just a shot at my credibility. I already told him she was telling the truth. Wasn't that enough? Oddly enough, he caught the subtle meaning in my plain tone, and was quick to grow frantic.

"Oh! I didn't mean-!" Pine tree stopped, quickly recollecting himself before clearing his throat. "Stop getting ahead of me." A cold look masked his features. What a vixen! "As I was saying before, there were finger prints on the letter."

"Ol' granny and Spook 'em McGookems."

"And one more." He retorted to my knowing tone, a small triumph in his short life span. I acted curious.

"Oh?" I enquired, allowing him room to continue. So, he was finally figuring it out. I had to admit, a lot faster than I expected him to. Bravo, kid. You're catching on! "Who's?"

"I'm not sure. But-." He turned to his left, grabbing at the plain yellow folder that sat next to him. Opening it, there were magnified photos of the finger prints. "I took a few looks. Ran them through a couple of computer screenings, and the data base came up with Ms. and Mr. Lass, no problem." He paused, worrying his bottom lip, already swollen from past nibbles. They were plumped red with irritation. "The other print, though. It's not on any of our records."

"Spooky." I added playfully. That smile of his became a bit more obvious, but was kept otherwise under wraps.

"Yeah, I know. But, get this." He flipped to a specific picture. Two finger prints, lined up side by side, marked with red ink and some circling around the photo's surface, met my gaze. "This-." He pointed to the first print. "-is Mr. Lass's." He tapped at the other one. "This one's the unidentified print. Can you tell the difference?"

"Sure. Where you made the little red marks. Those are the distinctions, right?"

"Right. But, very little differences. Minute. Fingerprints are far too detailed for this kind of copying." He closed the folder, walking to his desk. Throwing it on its wooden surface, he turned back to me. "They were almost perfect matches."

"Maybe a close relative."

"Mr. Lass was an only child. Says it right here in his records." He picked up another folder, this time with a blue tab sticking out of it. He placed his finger between the sheets, thumbing through the documents with a knowing hand. "It was almost a twin. So close to the original, but just too meticulous to copy exactly. A small hiccup."

"But, it was otherwise identical."

"Exactly. A counterfeit. It looked like someone had tried to sketch down the marks, and did a pretty damn good job, but missed the little stuff. Just enough for the computer to pick them up." I said nothing, smiling as he continued. That's it, puppy. You're almost there. Getting to the main point. Good boy. Good boy.

"Anything else?" Come on, sweetheart. I know you've got it. Just tip the glass over and crack the case. So close, puppet. So close! Pine tree froze, looking to his equipment; the microscope, placed thoughtlessly by the sink. He beckoned for me to follow, leading the way to his earlier work.

"There was a stain on the note, too. Some brown gunk."

"Shit?" I asked. Pine tree grimaced.

"Oh, no. Thank God." He took his fingers, pushing at the edge of his metal device, inviting me to peer down at the sample. I did so graciously. Still the same brown crust, whitening at the edges, crumpled and deforming. "It's bean paste."

"Bean paste?" I stood up, looking at him with comical disbelief. My eyebrow hitched up, bringing a devious smirk up as well. "You snacking on the job or something?" He ignored my comment, simply flipping through Derek's personal files. The page marked with a blue tab turned up, papers passed from him to me. I could just make out his eyes, hooded and sheltered beneath thick lashes. My eye lingered a bit, letting him shine in my knowing attention. And, he looked back, quickly stuffing away his stunned features. Part of luring in the prey was seeming interested. I broke out in a toothy grin and he quickly snapped his gaze from me, looking out the window.

"Check his medical records." Pine tree ordered, sounding calm as he examined a stray bird perched outside on a telephone wire. The page was documented thoroughly. Thick, black letters typed out in mashed up clumps came to view.

'September 6th, 1987: Fractured wrist. Prescribed brace.'

'May 27th, 1992: Car accident. Could suffer from possible concussion.'

'June 3rd, 1992: Seizure.'

'November 7th, 1997: Bitten by domestic pet. Tetanus shot.'

"Jump down to January." Pine tree snapped away from the window, looking at me again. I complied, skimming to the bottom.

"January 14th, 1998." I read. "Experienced severe reaction to black eyed peas. Doctors recommend a restriction."

"He was deathly allergic."

"To beans. I see..." Which can only mean one thing, Pine tree! Come on. Just say it! Say it, you know what that means this was!

"Why would there be beans all over the letter, then? Even as a final meal, if he were to eat them one last time, there's no way they'd keep refried beans in the house. Not even if she liked them." He paused, giving me a hard, steady look. "Someone else wrote this letter."

The elevator door came open with a casually automated bell. We looked up from our revelation, only to see none other than Ms. Lass passing through.

"Ms. Lass?" Pine tree inquired, confused as he looked on. "How'd you get in here? This area's restricted to civilians without authorization." He began to move forward, as though to escort her out, only for her to laugh.

"Oh, no no no, sunny! Your chief let me up. I thought I'd talk to you about the case."

"That's great! Uh-." He fumbled for a minute, taking the files from my hand before moving forward. "Actually, we were just talking about it. I think we've made a serious-." Ms. Lass put a hand up.

"Don't bother. I'm dropping the case."

...What?

Pine tree looked absolutely baffled, tongue skipping over itself as the announcement was made clear.

"Um... I'm sorry?" He cocked up a brow, giving her an odd glance. Something to examine her. Was she having a stroke? The woman smiled softly at Dipper, going to pick at the base of her shirt. She wore the same teal skirt, as well as the same sandells from last time. Even her white hair was pinned up the same way, with bee-printed knitting needles holding it in place.

"Well, I just got to thinking, is all. Is it really all that important if we catch my husband? He's not causing any harm. Can't we just let him live as he pleases?" She asked calmly, relaxed and comfortably confident. Those toes no longer curled in. She seemed certain of her choice.

"With all due respect, ma'am. You're husband's not exactly-... 'living.' If you'll just hear me out-."

"**No**." She shot. For a moment, those eyes held something like annoyance. They were quickly wiped clean, shining with a motherly warmth. "It doesn't change anything. Derek's gone. I need to move on, plain and simple." Her nose began to drip again. This time, she wiped it away with the back of her hand, only to clean herself off secretly by drifting it against the side of her skirt. She tried to keep it hidden by maintaining eye contact.

"Are you still paying us, lady?" I asked. Pine tree shot me a nasty look. Her smile remained.

"Oh, certainly! I'll just have to get my things in order. My accounts and such." She waved a hand at me, like the matter was no big deal.

"But-!" Dipper steadied himself. "If I may, ma'am. What we're dealing with might not be Derek's ghost. All of the evidence points to..." Ms. Lass's expression stiffened, sharp and bloodily unforgiving. Those eyes became piercing.

"I'd think twice about doubting me, boy." Her face softened instantly, giving him a sorrowful look. "There's nothing to be done about it. Just nothing." Dipper's lips curled in cutely, eyes shifting to the floor. A moment more, and he spoke.

"...Are you sure?"

"Absolutely, young man. Positive. Good day to you two." She stuck out her hand as a parting, offering it up to either of us. Dipper took it first, giving her a strange, weighted look as he shook her hand. In the moment, I had assumed the look was due to her unprecedented withdrawal from the case. But, once it was my turn to exchange departures, I began to understand more fully his expression. She shook with her left hand. Like a foreign. Someone unaware of customs. Her left was clunky in my right, uncorrected with a switch of the hand. I almost considered trading in for my left, just to feel like an improvement had been made. Her fingers slipped away from mine.

"Thank you for your effort."

"No problem, Nana." She left without a word more, elevator doors closing behind her. I stared at those silver doors, contemplating her odd mood, only for the clicking on a pen to snap me out of it.

"That was weird, Bill." Pine tree mumbled low, a ball point snapped tightly between his fingers. "She was different than before." He leaned against the desk, brow furrowed in contemplation.

"Yeah." I said simply.

"I mean-. She seemed so set on finding him. Why would she cancel it?"

I shrugged. "Maybe she couldn't afford our services." That wasn't it at all. Not even close. But, I wanted to know if he'd fight it. I wanted to know if pushing back encouraged him to push forward.

"She said she'd pay." He waved a hand at me, batting my comment away, still staring at the elevator. "No, no. Something was off. It didn't seem like her." So smart, Pine tree. So very smart.

"It didn't, did it?" I mused, leaning in on him. "You noticed it too, then? The way she acted." Dipper bunched up a little, noting my close proximity, only to nod in agreement.

"She was too calm. It was like talking to someone who'd never even known Derek before." He paused, taking a breath. "I don't know. Maybe I'm just overanalyzing." Oh, you're trying to stay rational. How cute. But, you can't maintain it. I know that much. You're too reckless. You want this to be a murder or a crime or mystery. You want it. And that scares you about yourself.

"Probably." I laughed, nudging his shoulder. Pine tree moved away, giving me a sour look. He said nothing, looking out the window to examine the parking lot down below, viewing Ms. Lass walk with a new spring in her step.

"She just up and quit..." Pine tree said. "Out of the blue." That pen of his began to click more rapidly. Looking his way, he was beginning to pace, mumbling to himself, checking out the window once or twice to see the old woman make her slow trudge across the street, still clicking his pen. It was kind of annoying.

"Hey!" I mused, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You win some, you lose some, am I right?"

There was a slight 'squish' sound under my hand where I pet him. I didn't acknowledge it, wondering if Pine tree'd pick up on the subtle hint. And, he did effortlessly. Giving a pale expression, he looked at the palm clutching him. Long, golden fingers curved against his boney shoulder. Pine tree grabbed my wrist, snatching it off of him, only to examine it. And there, dotted across my left hand, were small smears of bean paste. He looked at me.

"...Paste." He huffed, looking over my skin for a moment, only to turn towards the window. His body pressed against the glass, looking to the street below. The old lady was making her escape.

"Come on!" Pine tree called out, racing to the building's steps.

I put on a show of concern, following him down the concrete rows. It didn't seem like a good time to ask why we didn't just take the elevator. I'm sure he had his reasons. He bolted down the steps, sliding around every curve and twist, feet tapping and hand gliding against the metal railing. Within seconds, we'd scaled seven flights of stairs and made it to the lobby. We shot for the door, ripping it open for the parking lot.

But, she was gone.

The next four days were spent tracking her down. Of course, Dipper convinced the chief to give him access to her personal films. And he went through them at least eight times every hour. He put the town on high alert for an old woman in her eighties, wearing a teal skirt, sandals, and bee knitting needles. Look out, folks. A criminal at large. A search warrant was produced for her car, only to find it was gone. Everyone was told to keep an eye open for license plate 'DEBB1E.' But, no such luck. Not until Wednesday. And, even then, the case only seemed to twist.

A local ranger had called us up, stating he'd found something odd peeking out in the lake. Something big, like a lake monster or a really big rock. His words, not mine. There'd been a tow company to pull it from the waters, and I asked if Pine tree wanted to watch. He waved my comment aside, too concentrated on Ms. Lass's files. I decided to stay in, as well. Three hours later, we got the call. A gruff voice came out on the other side, announcing what had surfaced: Ms. Lass's car. And 'You'll never believe what we found in the trunk.' Well, I could guess. And, based on the cold feel of his skin, Pine tree could, too. When we got down there, he already had his forensic kit out and ready.

Ms. Lass looked hilarious in her current state! Face drenched, makeup running, mouth stuffed with mud and roots and leaves, eyes rolled back and pale blue veins absorbing the lake water and growing thick. I almost laughed. Pine tree was stiff, watching her form lower onto the tarp next to him, but remained otherwise neutral. He'd dealt with corpses before. The entire car was searched, checking for fingerprints once again. Pine tree almost scoffed at the chief's orders. 'Fingerprints.' Again. Whatever. Every item was removed from the car, labelled and laid down like a garage sale.

Her purse, drenched and flooded with lake mucus. A pair of old sunglasses. Leather gloves holed up by nibbling fish. A few photos she kept in her glove compartment. A little wooden cross, hung over her rear view mirror. Some letters under her seat, starting with 'Dear Grandma,' only to fade and be washed away, the rest illegible. A spare pair of black shoes. And, found crammed under her passenger seat, was an empty can of beans, as well as another set of unknown fingerprints.

This pair looked a lot like Ms. Lass's.


	16. Damage Control

"Swanky digs." Bill went, whistling at the prestigious mansion planted up hill. He watched from the passenger seat, crossing his legs as his eye viewed the place with appreciation. "What's the occasion?" He tilted his head, chin in hand, looking at the younger driving. Dipper kept his eyes on the road, addressing Bill from the side.

"I already told you." He went, pulling up to a pair of golden gates, caging the house within. "We're getting Intel from a friend on Mrs. Lass's last sighting." Dipper paused, patting the sides of his pants before catching the bulge of his wallet in his right pocket. He slid it out, digging around the folds with his dainty nails, only to grab at a plastic ID jammed between an expired gift card and a photo of Mabel. Bill quietly sneered at the boy's obvious affection. Rolling down his window, Dipper leaned out towards a black monitor. He pressed his card against the screen, going black for a moment, only to turn green with a check mark. The gates began to open.

"Who would've guessed Twinks had friends in high places?" Bill purred fondly, kicking his feet up on the dash. Dipper slanted his eyes. "So, who is this guy anyways? Your sugar daddy?"

"Why the hell did I bring you along, again?" Dipper growled lowly, mindlessly cursing himself for his poor judgement. And to think, he almost suspected Bill of being even a tiny bit more mature than he was. How embarrassing.

"'Cause you love me!" Bill popped.

"I can feel my brain cells killing themselves." Dipper pressed his fingers against the bridge of his nose, massaging between his eyes, only to suck in a breath. He looked up at Angle. "Bill, please behave yourself, will you? She set aside a lot of time for us to talk today, and-."

"Oh~. A sugar mommy?"

"**Bill**!" Dipper challenged. Bill smirked, but closed his mouth. He was such a tease. "When we get in there, not a word, okay?" He leaned in, finger erect and pointing, eyes burnt with the accusing slant of unease. Why had he brought Bill along?

"Yeah, yeah, Barbie doll. Sure. Quiet as a mouse. Got it." He took his fingers, pressing them together, only to slide them across his lips with a zipping motion. He didn't flick away the key, however. Instead, he made a point of patting it away in his breast pocket. Dipper rolled his eyes.

"You're impossible."

"Impossibly amazing!"

"Impossibly annoying." Dipper opened his car door, stepping out onto the other side. Bill followed in suite.

"Oh, stop. You like it!" He met Dipper at the first step, trotting his way up the marble stairs with untainted enthusiasm.

"Are you ever quiet?" Dipper stuffed his hands in his pockets, only to take them back out, arriving at the door. He knocked three times, swiftly followed by the chipper click of dress shoes against finely waxed marble on the other end.

"Do you want me to be?" Bill asked haughtily. Dipper said nothing, straightening himself out as the door swung open. An older male- tall, lanky, and bald in every form- held the entrance for them with a bow.

"Good day, Mr. Pines." Came his grown voice, a deep slash of British refinement. Dipper cleared his throat awkwardly, averting his eyes from the humbled man. He never knew how to receive people in this form.

"Um, hey." His voice broke as he backed up, rubbing his arm as he waited for the butler to invite them in. He didn't, but instead waited for them to enter on their own accord. They'd been expected. "So, uh-. Is she here, or-?"

"Indeed. The miss awaits your arrival in her bedroom."

"So, she is your sugar mommy-!" Dipper jabbed Bill in the gut, earning a sound crossed between a groan and a laugh. He was growing rather fond of the pain Dipper inflicted on his vessel.

"Thanks." Dipper shot sharply, giving the butler a light smile as he dragged Bill along by the tip of his ear, far away from anyone he could yap at. Dread was already sinking in the pit of his stomach, twisting up his insides as regret poked needles at his gut.

'Is it too late to drive him back? Yeah, probably. Can't I just leave him in the car? He'll mess with my seat settings if I do. Why did I bring him along? No fucking idea.'

He let go of Bill's ear once they reached the banister, quickly realizing what little effect it had on him. Angle couldn't stop snickering at the tingling sensation, rubbing at his ear as a kind of stimulus. They made their way up the steps; Dipper keeping a reasonable distance ahead of him, Bill occasionally peaking at his rear every time his leg hitched up to mount another step. Once they reached the top, Dipper led them down the hallway, where a pristine white door stood with the unspoken ward to go away. Neither did so. Instead, Dipper let out a sigh of relief, slumping his shoulder at the sight of something neither polished or marble or dipped in gold. It was grounding.

"Hey, Pacifica. You in there?" He knocked on the door with his index's joint, familiar and relaxed as he did so. It was a practiced gesture, one only preformed in such environments by people far too comfortable with each other. Something Bill took note of. "Can I come in?"

"Hold on a sec! I'm putting my makeup on." A muffled voice squeezed under the door frame, coming off as a faint laugh. Dipper laughed back, resting his forehead against the pale paint.

"Jesus, Paz. Ease up on the eye shadow, will you?"

"Up yours." Came the feminine tone, once again fuzzed with laughter. She hummed mindlessly, dotting her cheeks with a pleasant rosiness. She'd done this before, the monotonous placement of pastes and powders over flawless young skin, so much so that it was burnt into her like muscle memory. And yet, whenever she and Dipper met for drinks, a possible mystery, or simply a night out, it was always that same routine that held her up. Not that Dipper minded. He knew her well enough to forgive the inconvenience on impulse. "Come in!" She answered finally.

The space was a palace in of itself, taking up a fourth of the mansion's east wing, and more than likely able to fit Bill's apartment inside. The room was framed wall to wall in hot pink paint. Tacky, but somehow fancy when associated with a deep pocket like Miss Northwest. Her bed was a queen sized ocean of rosy pillows and soft pastels, so childish and untouchable that Bill couldn't help but confirm her to be the only soul to spend the night in it. The other possible candidate being Dipper, and... You know. Pacifica sat at a vanity mirror as she viewed herself with vainglorious eyes. It took a bit before she pulled herself away to address the two.

"You're late." She poked at him, brushing away the strand of blond hair that drifted between her eyes.

"You weren't ready." Dipper shrugged back, sauntering up to sit on her bed with such an amicable attitude, anyone with an ounce less knowledge would have mistaken them for lovers. No. Not at all. She was a friend. A very, very good friend. Someone he went way back with. From summer to summer, year after year, partaking in e-mails and text messages and phone calls and holiday visits, growing more and more affectionate for one another, while also maintaining their heavily platonic status. That's not to go without saying nothing was ever there, or that nothing could have blossomed from one of them.

There'd been an incident several years back, with one confessing to the other in a heat-of-the-moment proclamation, mingling in with the bursts of confetti cannons, clinking beer bottles, and drunken friend group counting down from ten, huddled around the TV, watching Time Square's jumbled streets through the buzzing of static. Dipper was too far gone to understand her, the room too loud, far too content to ask for a repeat. He just smiled, raising his glass, waiting for her to cheer with him. She did, not repeating herself, not wanting to ruin what they had, accepting the slow death of her affection. It stuck around, though. Something shriveled up, trying its damned hardest to die, but still kicking. She never acknowledged the feelings after cutting them off, though. She was too proud.

Dipper sat down on the bed, flopping onto his back just to remind himself of the quality of her mattress. He hadn't been in her room for almost a month, stumbling in late at night like a couple of tornadoes, unable to turn the knob correctly or even speak without slurring. It was always good fun. They'd sprawl out on her bed, laughing about something nonsensical and vulgar, with such poor taste that anyone else would have scowled, wrenching the flasks from their hands and dousing them with cold water. They'd kick off their shoes, stretch out on the mattress, and sleep in their clothes. One would suspect foul play in these kinds of scenes; kissing, touching, and loving. But, they both remained clean. Untouched. Virgins.

"God, Paz. This mattress is too good for you, you know that?" Dipper lifted his head, looking over his chest to smile at her, crossing his arms behind his head.

"Nothing's too good for me." She joked. Dipper responded with another laugh, this one abrupt and undeniably charming. He sat up, sitting Indian style, clasping onto either of his shins as he rocked back and forth.

"Is this the part where you Z snap?" Pacifica hummed at his comment and considered humoring him.

She stopped herself, catching a glint of light cast against her bed's headboard, bouncing mindlessly up and down in time with everyone and everything. She looked to her right, trailing the ray to a pair of darkly polished dress shoes tapping patiently by the door's entrance. Long tips, gleaming against the room's artificial lighting, crease less and tied. Attached were a pair of long legs, sheathed in dark blue dress pants. Her eyes rose up his design with a kind of anticipation, landing on his features like a passerby er craning their neck at Godzilla. She said nothing for a moment, only snapping her neck up and down to take every detail in at once. She pursed her lips knowingly.

"Is this that Bill-guy Mabel's been gas bagging about?" Pacifica mused, shooting Dipper a steady glance. From within the sharp light she held, something unspoken was passed between the two. Mabel was crazy about Bill. Well, she was crazy about every boy of course, and this one was probably no more serious than the last billion crushes. But, it was important that everyone within fifty feet of Mabel knew when she was about to have an episode. Just a fair warning to prepare the fallout before she dissolved into a crazed lover, devoted 99% of her life to him, and scared him away through her horrifying displays of affection and the realization that, 'Holy shit. This shit's real. This girl's actually coo-coo for cocoa puffs bat shit crazy how do I get out of this?' It was a cruel cycle; one Mabel was most likely aware of by now.

"Aw, she mentioned me? How sweet! All good things, I hope." Bill posed, pulling at the base of his tuxedo jacket. He already knew what a sucker she was for him. And now, with the girl spreading word of Bill around her friend group, it was like a proposal! She wasn't even subtle about it. Pacifica stood to greet him, hand extended, reaching for his gloved digits. They shook, the silk leather smoothing over her palm pleasantly.

"Pacifica Northwest."

"William Angle. But, please-." Dipper groaned.

"Bill, I swear to god, don't go saying that every time you introduce yourself. You're gonna break your arm with how hard you jack yourself off like that."

"I wouldn't have to if you'd just do it for me."

"Did you-? Are you talking about-..? Do you mean you want me to introduce you, or-?"

"Both would be nice." Dipper and Bill stared at each other for a moment, blinking slowly as the comment became known, and sounded strangely less playful. More inviting. But, that was probably in Dipper's head.

"... Um, wow. Okay, uh-." Pacifica smacked her lips, looking anywhere but the two males. "That was kinda weird. But, uh-. I appreciate the openness. Very open, you two. Very... uh-..." She paused, searching for the word. "Progressive. Real cash money, guys. Just-." Her hand went to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, brows furrowed as she laughed awkwardly. "Not in my bedroom, okay?" She joked, slapping Dipper on the back. It was at the contact that he broke from his trance, joining Pacifica in her super weird, super uncomfortable laugh. Because, wow. That was uncalled for. Bill didn't seem to mind, laughing along with them in a far less reserved manor.

"I should have left him in the car, I know. Sorry." Dipper turned to face her, giving an apologetic look. Pacifica just waved her hand at him.

"Don't sweat it." She eased, breaking into a normal smile. She moved from the two, going to the night stand at her bedside, reaching for the drawer and sliding it open. The inside housed nail polish, face wipes, fake lashes, eye shadow, foundation, and anything else she couldn't stuff in her spacious makeup bag. She shuffled the products around, fingering at each plastic container with the tip of her acrylic nail, until she brushed against what she was looking for. Beyond the multicolored bottles and potions, powders and scents, was a slim flash drive, hidden in the back. Dipper looked at the stick expectantly, watching as she held it out for him to grab. Just as he reached for it, she yanked it back, out of his reach. "It was Hell convincing Gideon to let me use his security system, I hope you know. You owe me, nerd. Remember that."

"Relax. I'll remember. Thanks." He took the drive, flipping it back and forth in search of some kind of labeling. When none surfaced, he looked up at her. "What kind of footage are we dealing with here?"

"I don't know." She scoffed. "It's like, a two hour video. I don't have time to watch that crap."

"You've got time to apply your lip stick."

"Lip gloss, Dipper. Very different."

"Sure. Okay." Dipper hummed, looking at the drive skeptically. Two hours was ridiculously short for police footage. But, he had faith in it. Why wouldn't he? Pacifica was the town gossip, after all. If anything happened, anything at all, she was always the first person to get her hands on it. And, she wasn't afraid to go the extra mile for it."Thanks again, Paz. This means a lot." He began to turn away, aiming for the door, Bill already there and leaning against the door frame. Pacifica shot the man a look, only to grab Dipper by the arm.

"Wait a minute." She rushed. "Bill, would you wait outside? I've gotta spill the tea with my friend real quick." He seemed surprised for a moment, looking the blond up and down with a new weight to it. Did she know something? Was she about to expose him? No. Impossible. She was in the dark, just like everyone else. Bill placed his hands in his dress pants' pockets, pulling one of his famous all-teeth smiles.

"Don't be too long." He said simply, only to turn away and close the door. The second he was out of view, Pacifica was whipping around to face Dipper.

"Your partner's hot, Dipper." She blurted, confident in her deduction all the same. Dipper groaned. "Like, really hot. Did you know that?"

"Please, stop talking." He dead-panned, rubbing his forehead to calm the raging headache she'd given him. It didn't seem to deter her next comments.

"But, you think he's hot too, right?"

"No. That'd be-."

"Gay?"

"-Weird. I was going to say weird."

"Sure you were. Well, look." Pacifica whipped out her phone, seemingly materializing out of thin air, only to pull up her messages. "Mabel's been texting me nonstop about the guy, dork."

"She does that with all her crushes."

"Yeah, but she's never done it like this. She won't shut up about him. Have you talked to her about Bill? Has she said anything?"

"I try to avoid anything involving Bill as much as I can. He's not exactly a family friendly subject."

"Alright, well-." She slipped her phone away, once again like a slide of hand trick, the slick metal flickering out of existence in an instance. "You should look into it. Seriously, she seems kind of crazy when she talks about him." Pacifica paused, meeting Dipper's gaze, unimpressed and slightly skeptical. "I mean-. Crazier than usual. Not the good crazy. Bad. Bad crazy. The kind that'd end up stalking her ex if they ever broke up."

"Oh god, don't remind me." The weight of her warning started to toll on him. "We can't go through that again. That was a nightmare."

"I know, dork. I know. So, you're gonna have to figure something out."

"Like what? Separate them? You know how she sees stuff like that?"

"Forbidden love?"

"Forbidden love." He sighed, throwing his hands up. "And, that's not even the worst part. The guy's a complete jerk. He never shuts up, and he's just so cocky."

"Sounds like a real bad boy. You know Mabel's a sucker for bad boys."

"You don't even know the half of it. This whole thing's gonna be shit, I can just tell. I've been getting weird vibes from them since the day they met. Christ." Dipper moaned lowly, closing his eyes with a hiss before smacking his head. "He's gonna be all around the house if they start dating! And I can't stand the guy!"

"Hey. Calm down, loser. It's gonna be okay. Just gotta game plan, right? You're good at that stuff."

"I'm no good at romance, Paz. You know that."

"Hell yeah, I do." She paused, looking at the bedazzled hot pink kitty clock on her wall. A meeting discussion for her magazine line's cover edition of 'Top Llama' started at two. She needed to wrap things up quickly. "Listen." She grabbed him by the shoulder, spinning him around. He gave little protest, too caught up in thought to fully process the situation as she began to usher him towards the door. "Just set him up with somebody before she can nab him. Mabel'll back off, no problem."

"But, I-. Whoa!" He stumbled over the edge of her shag carpet, only to correct himself awkwardly. "I've never played match maker before."

"Don't be such a pussy." She looked to the clock again; a quarter 'til two. "You can't cock block them forever. That stuff gets tricky real fast."

"Would you date him?"

"No."

"Then who am I supposed to introduce him to?!"

"Someone nice."

"No one nice'd date that asshole."

"Then find someone terrible." She said finally, reaching for the door knob. Dipper became frantic.

"But, what if I can't find anyone?" She opened the door, pushing him onto the other end. He tripped over his own two feet, just barely missing Bill who stood patiently outside.

"Use your sex appeal, genius." Pacifica responded, slamming the door in his face. Dipper watched, stammering at the white paint job, as the shadow of her feet shifted from under the door frame, out of view.

"...That bitch..."

"You two have a nice tea time?" Bill leaned in resting his chin on Dipper's left shoulder, cheek pressed against his, fingers slowly snaking around his waist. Dipper jumped instantly, twirling out of his hold with something just short of indignity.

"Don't touch me. I'm not in the mood right now."

"Not in the mood for what?" Bill asked. And, for the life of him, Dipper couldn't describe what the 'mood' was, or even what they'd been doing. What they'd really been up to. For an instance, their interactions seemed alien. 'Arguing' just wasn't the right word. When they poked fun at each other, when he teased him, bantered, countered. What was that? Playing? Were they playing? It sounded like a good word, but-. Not right. Close, but not right. It was something more dangerous. It made him sharper. More aware. Less willing. Not out of fear, but simply hesitation. Because, was this right? Was this okay? Was he doing something wrong? What would people think? What would his parents think? What would Mabel think? Did he really want to **be** this?

Be..?

Be what?

What was he thinking about?

What did 'be' mean?

Dipper had no idea.


	17. Flash Drive

The flash drive was light; weightless in hand, but ominously prevoking. Dipper held it, biting his lip cautiously while waiting for his laptop to power on. Once it did, Bill and he would pour over the footage like nothing else, examining every detail. Each pause and person; every inch of the screen, searching for what happened to miss Lass.

"God, kid. You're computer's as slow as you are." Bill whined, leaning forward to swirl his finger along the mouse pad. Dipper was anything but pleased by his advance, feeling Bill's left hand rest on his thigh as he poked at his laptop. With a venomous glint, he slapped at Bill's left hand. The slight pinch of his inner thigh before retreating did not go without notice, but instead without acknowledgement. He pushed away the hand that picked fun at his device, he himself repeatedly pressing the spacebar as they waited.

"When have I ever given the impression of being slow, jackass?" He used his elbow as a wedge, nudging Bill's tilting body to a distance. "Why not bring your own damn laptop if you're in such a rush?"

"Not a chance. You might type 'P' in the search bar." Dipper scoffed, though the back of his mind grew unsettlingly curious. After a moment, Dipper shook his head, deciding he didn't want to know. The screen blinked brightly, flashing white then blue with the dead burn of electricity. Right away, the fan kicked in, and the laptop's dying cries became known by the weight of it's harty groans.

"Real charmer you got there." Bill joked, nudging him playfully. Dipper scowled back.

"Fuck you."

"Is that a request?" Dipper's raised middle was response enough, plugging the drive into an empty slot, waiting for the data to fuel into his prehistoric hunk of junk. He really needed a new laptop. But, he also needed drinking money, and no way in hell was he pussying out and asking Pacifica to cover his tab. It wasn't very manly, for one. And, it was always awkward asking someone for cash at a bar. Unless you were giving out hand jobs at least, to some creep in a fur coat and gold chains of all things, there wasn't any real reason to buy you a drink. He'd learned that long ago. Hell, some pimp in his mid-forties would've been balls deep in his ass behind a McRonald's just three weeks ago if Pacifica hadn't popped up with a little extra green to spare. Which was good, because he was almost drunk enough to consider the guy's offer. **Almost**.

Slowly, very slowly, a black screen began to flicker into and out of existence, only to solidify and transform into some kind of file tab. One document lazily labelled '10:49.23.M4V,' making Dipper sigh mindlessly. He knew what would happen if he pressed the file, but still complied reluctantly. As expected, the screen sputtered, glitched, and buzzed anxiously as its virus-infected monitor fought against illness to display the video. His laptop wasn't used to displaying motion based files beyond short gifs. Too much strain on the motor. Wonderful.

"I think I see something…" Bill leaned in again, squinting at the screen with a face of expectation; fake hope. Then, he flopped back in his chair, arms folded, pulling a disappointed look. "Nevermind. It's just your firewall lying down for 'The Big Sleep.'"

"Whatever." Dipper shot darkly, avoiding his gaze.

"Hey, so I gotta know: When you jerk off to porn in 144p-."

"Are you gonna do this all night?"

"I always do it all night."

"Right. Great. Please, shut the hell up." The screen flickered once more, only for a white arrow with the backdrop of a dark street to come into view.

"Took you long enough-." Dipper shushed at him sharply, urging him to quiet down as he clicked 'play.' The video was set outside a grocery store, three days prior to miss Lass's disappearance. Beneath the relentless grain of static and ever moving figures came an old woman hobbling into view.

"That's her…" Bill mumbled with an odd grin. Some kind of excitement that built up behind his golden cheeks, spreading across his body and into his brain. Being stuck in stone was like nothing he'd experienced before. Time moved slowly. And, yes. He could sense the time. He thought he'd been around long enough for its pull to fade from his concept of understanding. Wrong. Very wrong. It stuck around, ripping at his bricks and tugging at his bowtie. Anything would have been more entertaining. Including this. It was pacing, but not through boredom. Anticipation. He almost scowlded himself for never giving the thrill a chance. Letting things evolve was rather fun to watch.

"Yeah…" Dipper hummed back. He scooted forward in his seat, elbows propped up and eyes expecting; observing. He didn't so much as blink, watching her grey figure choppily glitch across the screen, into the store. The camera view switched, transporting the two into an aerial view display of the store's maze-like shelves. Row upon row of cans, bags, bottles, and boxes, strategically placed for consumption. In the mist of the store's stark white isles, miss Lass examined the cleaning supplies, picked at a few grapes in an unsealed bag, and circled a free sample booth four times before getting her fill and kindly declining the sales woman's offer. Nothing out of the ordinary. There was a point in which Bill and Dipper became anxious, watching her old body scurry down the canned isle. But, she only looked, picked up a can of vegetable soup, and set it back on the shelf with a shallow look of disinterest. In fact, her cart was completely void of any canned items. No beans.

"He's following her." Bill commented aloud. Dipper jumped, cutting his complex thoughts off as he turned to look at where Bill's finger pointed.

"Who?" He simply got closer, tapping the screen with his index to draw Dipper's attention near.

"Him." Bill responded simply. There, at the end of the frozen isle, cut in half by the screen, was a man dressed in black. A dark hoodie, black pants, and jet black hair stood, turned away from the woman, mindlessly reading the labelled price of king crab, seemingly added to the normal scene out of convenience. Miss Lass turned the corner, rubbing her arms as the isle's chill bit into her skin. She exited from the left. And, without a sign of acknowledgement- a glance up or the shifting of position- the man exited right, once again trailing her at the other end of the isle. He carried no items, shopping cart or bag, simply examining each product in his instant view, grabbing it, turning it around, and putting it back before exiting the isle opposite of her.

"I've never seen him before. Maybe a tourist?"

"Maybe a murderer."

"Yeah, no shit." Dipper paused the video, zooming in on the suspect's face.

"Why's he following her, though?"

"To murder?"

"But, why?"

"Does everything have to have a reason with you?" Dipper scoffed in annoyance, playing the video once more, though his comment rang a strange truth within him. Murderers really didn't need a reason, did they? No. They really didn't. Miss Lass became still, looking to the left of her, then the right, searching for something out of view. Her hands began to fidget, tapping against the cart's bar, only to catch sight of her desired request: a restroom. She scurried off, parking her cart by the outside of the door, quickly entering as the last bit of her dignity clipped away. And, with a sly glance across the room, the mysterious man followed, dipping in with a smirk.

"Looks like we've got a peeping Tom on our hands." Bill mused, tilting his body to brush against Dipper's shoulder. Mindlessly, Dipper tilted back, pressing against it, only to lean away with a start.

"Yeah. It's too bad they don't have cameras in the bathrooms."

"Oh~. Is that so-?" Bill leaned in. Dipper leaned away.

"Fuck off."

"You know, it wouldn't kill you to be a little nicer to your partner." He pulled a pout, giving a hurt expression that was far too genuine to be real. In Bill's case, at least.

"Trust me. It would."

"Don't be such a bully, dumpling. 'Tis the season, right?"

"Bill, it's July." That seemed to be the end of it. He looked back at the screen, tapping his finger against his chin as he waited for the man to come out, drenched in blood, dragging the old woman's corpse out the door and into her car, where he'd chuck her in her trunk and drive it into the lake. Of course, that wouldn't explain who the hell they'd been talking to the day of her disappearance, or why they looked and sounded just like her, or what those fingerprints were all about. But, baby steps. Baby steps.

Another thirty minutes were eaten out of the video, but neither individual exited the bathroom. And, oddly enough, plenty of people entered and left just fine. Some wiping their wet hands on their jeans, others holding their younger's hand, all calm and passive. As though a murder hadn't even taken place. "This movie sucks." Bill complained. Dipper remained silent, still watching the screen. A woman- large, ridiculously large- exited the stalls. Someone far too big to be forgotten. They hadn't even seen her enter. She seemed to squeeze out of the door, her fat almost molding into a rectangular shape just to leave. Her stature was comical to say the least, considering that door should not have let her pass. In fact, her shoulders themselves were too broad even when bunched up. Still, her jiggling belly rolled out on the other end, morphing like puddy to cookie cut her way out.

"Oh, wow! Are we watching 'Big Momma's House?'"

"How the hell did I know you were gonna say that?"

"You were thinking it, too? It's like we're linked at the mind!" Bill faked swooning, clutching his heart as he went. "We must be destined for each other!" He threw an arm around Dipper's shoulder, falling against him with over exaggerated yearning. Bill placed the back of his hand against his forehead, lying his head on the edge of Dipper's thigh, expression overdone and posing. "Veux-tu m'épouser?"

Against his own wishes, Dipper actually laughed, shooing Bill away from him. "Stop fooling around." He snorted, turning his attention back to the monitor. When he did, the lingering waste of his loose smile was instantly wiped away. His flesh went cold as he watched the woman lumber into the canned foods isle and grab armfuls of beans. Not even discreetly. She waddled away, carrying load upon load of 'Baron Num Nums High Flyin' Beans' to the counter, clattering cans raining over the floor as the check out girl worked with haste.

"That's odd…" Dipper hummed.

"Guess we know where she gets her size from." Dipper's eyes shifted expectantly back to the bathroom, waiting for the man to exit with an ax in hand, Miss Lass's severed head clenched between closed fingers. No such luck. Instead, the woman jammed her fat fingers into her purse, grabbing blindly at the contents for a solid three minutes. A wallet surfaced, and she dumped the cash on the cashier's scanner before taking a brisk stroll out the door. She received a few glancing eyes, small whispers around the room, pointing and scoffing and scowling at her unorthodox behavior. Outside of that, everything was normal. The last forty minutes consisted of ordinary shoppers reaching for shelves and tugging their disobedient children around. Miss Lass never exited the bathroom. And, as the store neared a close, someone found her shopping cart and returned each item to their respective shelf.

The video went off with a click, leaving the two stranded in the dark confinements of the laboratory. Bill's ears perked up, noting the rhythmic bounce of Dipper's knee as he shook just slightly from the action. Dipper's fingers rested at his chin where he mindlessly rolled his middle and index along his hairless skin, massaging and molding the flesh around. His eyes remained fixated just ahead of him, caught up in a memory he couldn't quite recall.

"What're you thinking, Einstein?" Bill didn't lean in this time. Instead, he hooked his foot along the poll of Dipper's swivel chair, pulling him closer as he did. Dipper didn't so much as flinch at the proximity, retaining his position of contemplation.

"That lady… She was a bit large, wasn't she?"

"You're being nice with it, buddy. Don't be. She was fat." Bill deadpanned. Dipper only hummed thoughtfully, nodding his head as the comment faded into his mind.

"Yeah… Yeah, she was." He went silent again, tapping his chin as his eyes continually faded in and out of consciousness. He was repeatedly being sucked in by deep thought, though staying mindful of his surroundings as he did. "And, those guys never came out."

"You think she ate 'em?" Bill snorted.

"Maybe… No, no. That doesn't seem right. I don't think she ate them."

"Then, what else could have happened?" Bill propped his head up with his palm, draping one of his legs over Dipper's. "You think they bippity-boppity-booed themselves into looking like some fat chick?"

"No, I-" Dipper paused, realizing what Bill had just suggested. "Wait…" His eyes darted down, looking left to right, brow furrowed as his pupils grew dense and sharp. Something disconnect clicked within the confines of his brain, and a theory came to light. "Holy-!" He covered his mouth in astonishment, eyes blown wide as he stood from his seat, looking at Bill as though to ask for confirmation. "Holy shit!" He blurted, hand moving from mouth to clasp the tufts of his brown curls. The dots were starting to connect.

"Oh! There it is! Whatcha got for us, puppy?" Dipper didn't bother to acknowledge the pet name, or the condescending atmosphere of his tone. He was livid, standing then sitting then standing again, circling the desk to pull at one of his drawers. A large plastic tub was thunked on the wooden surface, clamped shut with a plastic top. He popped it off anxiously, fingers expertly dancing along the organized filing within. 'S' His fingers roamed through 'S,' only to slip out a specific file and shove everything else off his desk, laying the contents out proudly.

"That's it. He- he's been stealing people's places! Their identities! That explains the fingerprints! That's why the prints weren't perfect matches! The guy couldn't possibly copy them perfectly! No, that-! It's impossible." Dipper shuffled the files around, mindlessly flipping page to page, scanning over pictures, taking short mental note of bullet pointed facts, grinning foolishly at the display. "When they went into the bathroom- That woman had entered! But-!" He whipped around to face Bill, grabbing him by the shoulders to pull him closer. "She was the man!"

Bill's face couldn't possibly have looked more pleased with Dipper's crazed mood. He beamed, catching a glimpse of the electric buzz that shot through Dipper's expression, joyous and hyper and insane. Bill wrapped an arm around his waist, taking a chance and pulling the boy closer. Dipper didn't pull back, but instead continued to gush. "He's a shapeshifter, Bill! The guy's been offing his victims to take their place! That's why the fingerprints don't match up! That's why the woman was able to enter and exit the bathroom! That's why-!" He stopped, looking up at Bill.

His hand was on his ass.

"Why what?" Bill cooed, tightening his grip around Dipper's waist. His piercing black eye bore into Dipper's flesh, burning a hole into his subconscious. Because, this didn't feel wrong. This didn't feel clunky or unnatural like with Wendy. This didn't feel like when John was trying to get in his pants, back his freshman year. This didn't feel like anything. It just felt-. Something deep inside him was trying to knock down a heavily locked door. Claw at the wooden frame. Fight against the guilt of desire and self-imposed expectations. To climb its way to the top and surface inside of him. Slowly, very slowly, the knob began to turn. Dipper kneed Bill in the crotch, and the knob stopped turning.

"Quit playing, dude. This is serious." He growled at Bill's crumbled form, cupping his groin, laughing all the while.

"F-uck, kiddo. Can't give a guy a break, can you?" Bill looked up, smiling shamelessly with his hand still between his legs. Somehow, it made Dipper feel inferior. He watched the man continue to giggle, the stimulating pain so unpleasant it made him absolutely giddy. He'd never experienced something so alien! Did these things always feel like this? It was big fun, if that was the case. Maybe he'd take the thing for a test drive one day. Might give him a new hobby to look forward to. That is, if his vessel could even experience that kind of sensation. In all honesty, he hadn't tested out all the kinks yet. The thing didn't need food, water, sleep. Hell, he didn't even use the bathroom. He'd give it a go, though. Later.

"Were you even listening? I said the thing's a Shapeshifter, Bill! The guy transformed into hungry Kaonashi from fucking 'Spirited Away,' swallowed that old lady's body, and regurgitated her in the back of her car. Doesn't that spark even a little interest in you?"

"So, she did eat them!" Bill cheered, the pain subsiding as he did so.

"Yes! No! Ugh, what the hell, Bill?" Dipper face palmed himself, mumbling into his hand with remorse for everything that led his life in this direction. He wasn't sure why he had to go through this. "People are dying."

"Everyone dies, sweet cheeks. It's just a matter of time."

"Lovely." Dipper sneered sarcastically, rolling his eyes. Who gave a shit what that guy thought, anyways?

The next day was spent reviewing a wide range of video footage. But by this point, the target was a gold coin under one of three cups, constantly shuffling around and changing directions. They came in black, and left white. Opened female, closed male. Red to blue hair. Freckles to scars. Tall to short. Fat to thin. Juggling, juggling, juggling the names of missing youths, adults, and pets. A frightening list piled up. In some, the victims entered the store and never left. Other cases they remained untouched, simply used as reference for the shapeshifter's next look, leaving none the wiser. A kind of mental fuck when you saw two Larry Himers exit Walblart at different time intervals, acting casual as they carried their concealed groceries.

It went on like a line of dominoes, swapping from cats to dogs to adults to children, a seemingly endless cycle of switching and changing. Until, finally, there came a pause in the process. A halt where it would sleep, eat, and leave for another day. Another victim to grab from. In an abandoned mansion, no less. Because, this was Gravity Falls. Of course they had creepy ass shit like that. And that's exactly where the two were headed. They stepped out of Dipper's car, dark clouds looming over the mansion against the ever present blue of the summer sky. It was a comedic contrast, viewing the ominous building in shady greys and purples, washed out against the chipper backdrop of sunlight. It was half-suspected of the two to see lightning strikes and hear a distance organ play a macabre tune.

"Looks like someone could use some TLC." Bill whistled at the mess beyond chained bars, placing his hands on his hips as he shook his head with a tut. "What a dump."

"Five bucks says it's haunted." Dipper offered. Bill only laughed.

"Five bucks says you're scared."

"Five bucks says you're full of shit." Dipper snarled at him, walking ahead to examine the chained fence. Bill stood for a moment, watching Dipper hold the rusty lock in his hand in need of a key, only to yank at it fiercely and snap the decayed metal in half. The chains had been snapped around the bars for so long, it wouldn't have been that hard to make a dent in the brittle substance. But, still. It was a beautiful sight to watch.

"Five bucks says you're right." Bill shrugged with a smirk, moving to be side by side with him. "Real tough guy, huh?"

"Only compared to you."

"It's cute, you think there's even a comparison." Bill sighed fondly, patting the younger on the back. Dipper openly shied away from the contact, glaring as his form shrivelled up.

"Don't touch me." He spat. Bill's smile widened. He looked like he was going to comment on the statement- something snarky and cold blooded- only to hear quick footsteps approaching them from behind.

"Hey! Stop! Don't go in there!" A meek, pretty voice was gaining on them, shot with heavy breaths and endless panting. "Don't go in! Don't go in!" Young, female, and sweetly innocent, the tone rang with broken fear. The partners turned around just in time to see the little body scurt to a stop and run straight into Dipper's legs, unable to counteract their full inertial. A little girl clad in a light pink dress, with curly blond hair tied back in a bow. The picture of innocence. She looked up at the two with bright blue eyes, clutching onto Dipper's pant leg.

"Don't go in there, mister! Don't go in!" She babbled, shaking her head with haste. "If you go in there-! I-if you go in there-!" The little girl quickly grew frantic.

"Hey, hey! Whoa. Calm down, okay? What's wrong?" Dipper soothed, beginning to kneel down to be level with her. Bill gripped at his arm though, keeping him up right. He held a cold glare.

"Who are you, kid?" Bill asked, watching her suspiciously. She didn't answer, shaking her head before burying her face in his pant leg once more. "Oh, you can't go in! Y-you just can't!" Bill began to bend down, trying to pry the crying child from Pinetree's leg.

"Hands off the merchandise, pal." He placed his fingers against her forehead, working to nudge her small body away. Dipper elbowed him with a new found distaste, shooting him a rotten look.

"Don't be a piece of crap, Bill. What the heck is wrong with you?" The kid couldn't have been more than eight, short even for her age, and undeniably frantic. How could Bill be so cruel? He looked back down at the girl, kneeling, this time without Bill's opposition. He did, however, scowl at the back of Dipper's head. For a moment, he couldn't wait for his chance to kill the kid. His severed head would look fantastic on his mantle. But, easy Bill. Easy. No need to rush things.

"Do you live around these parts?" The concerned look on Dipper's face absolutely disgusted Bill. The concept of human emotions in general was disgusting, and they always made Bill's empty stomach queasy. But, for some reason, when he witnessed Dipper of all people express something so vulnerable and weak, he felt a strange pinch in his gut. Like he'd been punched. Like he'd been betrayed. The kid was too human.

"U-uh-huh." She spoke after several seconds of plain sobbing, rubbing her eyes with the balls of her hands, nodding her head pitifully. Dipper's brow pinched up, looking at her with soft worry. Bill could have wretched.

"What's your name? Where are your parents?"

"They-they're at ho-me. I tol-old them th-at I'd be a-a-at the par-park." The girl choked relentlessly on her cries, swallowing and drooling and rubbing at her runny nose, shaking violently. "I-I'm Abby."

"We're doing grown up work, Abs. Beat it, will you?" Bill growled lowly, his icy glare not going unnoticed by Dipper.

"Seriously, Bill? What gives? You wanna be a total jerk, then just head inside. I'll meet you there."

"**No**! No, you can't go! Please, please don't go in there! There's a monster!" Abby's hands pulled at his shirt sleeves, urging him to look into her frightened eyes and understand the full weight of the situation. "If you go in there, he'll eat you!"

"Look, kid-."

"Bill, I swear." Dipper's eyes snapped shut, brow wrinkling as his face morphed into perpetual annoyance. He took a breath, sighing softly, only to open his eyes again and look at Abby with tight hope. "It's okay, Abby. It's aren't any monsters in there."

"Yes, there are! And, he'll- he'll-!"she cut herself off with a whine, throat strained with the hurt stretch of tears. She shook her head, wiping away another tear before looking back at him.

"No, hey. No, it's not a monster. It's a…" He paused, looking to Bill for ideas. When all he did was stick his tongue out and pout, Dipper rolled his eyes. "It's a rat. A really, really big rat. And we were called in to get rid of it." Dipper hoped that would soothe her crying just a little, but it only seemed to work against her.

"You're wrong, mister! You are! Please, don't do it! Please, stay away from him!" She worked herself into a panic, tugging at his sleeves and bawling her eyes out. "If you don't-!"

"He'll eat us." Bill huffed boldly. Dipper grit his teeth, looking up at him with such condensed fury, he could have easily set anyone on fire. Anyone else. "That sure is scary, little girl." Bill began to bend down very slowly, eye pierced with the accusing glare of an interrogator. What game was this girl trying to play? "And, you know what? You're probably right… He will eat us, won't he?"

"Don't listen to my partner-."

"He'll grind our bones into paist and eat our hearts."

"Shut up, Bill!" Dipper went to clap a hand over his mouth. When he did, Bill didn't so much as hesitate before biting into his soft skin, relishing the wonderful sink of teeth in flesh, iron against tongue, wet against dry. He'd have to remember that. Dipper yelped, holding back a stream of curses as his thumb pressed against the throbbing mark. "You-."

"And then-." Bill leaned forward. "When he's had his fill-." His eye met the little girl's shaking orbs, primal and territorial as he seemingly crept up on the child. Those eyes looked so innocent, didn't they? But, only a true master of the mind could deduct someone's character. That girl was a troublemaker. He pulled his arms above his head like a taxidermy bear fixated in attack mode, looming over the child evilly. "**He'll come for you!**"

The little girl screamed in tears, racing away from the heartless man in a flash of pink. She ran across the street, turned a corner, and disappeared from view. Bill stood up laughing, even as Dipper repeatedly whacking him on the head.

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Why'd you do that?!"

"Why do you think? We're working with a shapeshifter, genius. You think some cute little toddler's just gonna fall into your arms and beg you not to arrest the piece of shit lurking in that mansion's attic? Really? On what day? Grow up, princess."

"Don't call me a fucking princess. It doesn't hurt to have a little compassion one in a while."

"Are you having some kind of a stroke? Who gave you the right to preach to me about compassion? You're as heartless as they come!"

"Only to shit-eating know-nothings that keep fucking with my work!"

"Boohoo! I touched your microscope! I stole your seat! Anything else you wanna bitch about? Or, do you feel like getting off the Opera-shit and acting like an adult?"

"I am an adult! You're the one fucking around all the time!"

"Bullshit. I call bullshit. You're a brat."

"I am not-!" Dipper was close to exploding, eyes snapped shut, looking to the ground with a raised fist, ready to knock some sense into the guy just ahead of him. He took a sharp breath, head snapping up as he stared daggers at Bill. "You know what? Fuck it. Fuck you. 'Cause, once the whole 'Bill Dilemma' is solved, we'll never have to see each other again."

"Not unless I marry your sister." Dipper whipped back his fist, only to follow through as his knuckle made perfect contact with Bill's cheek bone.


	18. Abby

By the time they made it inside the mansion, Bill had a proud purple bruise on the right side of his cheek. He made a point of pinching, poking, and prodding at it, enjoying the throbbing sting his bold touches shot through his nervous system. "One hell of a left hook you got there." Bill said, coming off his previous rage and offering Dipper a kind of forgiveness; a way out of the awkward silence. Bill was almost ashamed of himself. To think he'd experienced something so emotional for something so pointless. It was down right pathetic! He'd been around the locals for too long. If he wasn't careful, he might start acting human and go sane. He couldn't have that.

Dipper glared viciously, sending wave upon mental wave of curses on Bill's stupid head. It was one thing to insult Dipper. It was another to insult his sister. Because, it was an insult. At least by his standards. Bill couldn't just have Mabel if he wanted her. Well, he could, but that was only if he knew how crazy she was for him. And, he didn't. He just assumed everybody wanted him. Dipper's lip hitched up as he snarled, remaining silent.

The building was as you'd expect: Abandoned. No lights. No residents. No maids. It was a dusty display of cobwebs and cockroaches. The floorboards had been nibbled away at by starving rats, too dull to find an exit route and escape. Every step creaked beneath their feet, even the subtle shifting of weight was documented with sound. Holes shot through the house, where thriving termites threatened to eat the very foundation of the walls and fold in on the two. Dusted, grey paintings untouched by time hung over the walls with the stiff stance of marble slabs. Riding its way to the very top, a glorious banister, now broken and peeled, was the first thing to greet them at the front door. And just above them was a glorious chandelier, constructed of crystals and blown out bulbs. A dusty rope held it up with what looked like a couple of strands yet to give way.

"Bet this place was a pretty little piece in its hay-day. It went from the Taj mahal to McRonald's bathroom real quick, didn't it?" Bill whistled, asking more himself than Dipper. Hey, if the kid wanted to play cold shoulder, Bill wasn't about to throw him a bone. Dipper was a pet. A toy. Entertaining in its fleeting existence, but quickly dropped once the magic dissolved. If he kept up the act, it wouldn't take Bill two seconds to contemplate his next move: Throw the doll away. Dipper didn't so much as glance his way, whipping out a flashlight to counter the darkness.

"We should split up. We'll cover more ground that way." Dipper suggested. Bill laughed, doubling over at his partner's stupid suggestion.

"Oh, yeah. Sure, sure, Fred. Good idea. I haven't heard that before." He snorted, giving Dipper a once over. Has this kid watched a single horror film in his life? He had to be joking. "And let me guess: You want us to check the basement first, right?" Dipper didn't react to the comment, turning left as he began to walk towards what used to be a dining hall.

"I'm taking left. You take right. If something goes wrong, you've been issued a walkie-talkie. We'll meet back up in thirty minutes."

"You're not the boss of me." Bill scoffed. Dipper said nothing, walking farther and farther into the house, his light slowly being eaten away by darkness. Cipher was impressively conflicted at the moment, trying to balance out 'no one should ever treat me like that' with 'is this what a boner feels like?'

"Fuck it." Bill decided, turning on his flashlight and walking down the mansion's right hallway. Echoed footsteps bounced along the walls as he made his rounds, crossing through what looked to be an old reading room. Plastic tarps were draped over the bits of furniture: A long velvet couch, a few love seats, a piano bench, and a small table sitting right by the window. The curtains were drawn close, making every dust particle his light shone over glisten in the pitch black room. No pictures were hung there. Each wall was blocked by long, proud book shelves that showcased everything from 'Madame Bovary' to 'Othello'.

Bill sighed in frustration, already bored beyond comprehension at his job description. Look for a monster in this damp hole? What a snooze. He contemplated just ditching the kid for a while- let him worry. Sit back and wait for Dipper to find him. He'd be steaming mad if Bill did that. There's no way he wouldn't break his vow of silence to tear into him. And, once it was all over, Dipper would be too spent to be upset anymore and Bill'd have his precious little puppet back.

It was annoying when Dipper acted so pissy. Besides, it's not like Bill had to do what he said anyways. Why should he go looking for it? Why should he follow Dipper's directions? Because, hot damn, the fleshling was one fine piece of skin when he got bossy. Alright, okay. Fine. Bill turned, aiming for the corridor just right of him, shining his flashlight into the dark hallway of pitched tiles, only to catch the tune of tiny footsteps. He looked up, half suspecting to see fury rats scutter along the ceiling beams, hissing, biting, and being otherwise feral. But, there was nothing.

The sound grew louder; closer. And, with every inch gained in proximity, the image in Bill's mind seemed to grow as well. It was larger than a bread box, for sure. Light, or heavy? It depended on what it was. A dog? Maybe a large cat? Or… What they'd come here for. The footsteps seemed to be advancing on him, nearing his direction with a sense of purpose. Perhaps to kill him. In which case, he'd have to burn them alive. It'd be a hassle explaining the singed corpse to Dipper.

That seemed to be Bill's only hang up about the whole ordeal. He turned, facing the direction of the approaching body, hands shoved into his pockets. It wouldn't even be a challenge. The noise grew near, until its dark shadow was just outside the doorway, standing and staring at Bill's illuminated figure. A stretched, barbaric smile cursed his cheeks.

"H-hello?" Came a meek voice. Suddenly, Bill's smile dropped. That voice was too annoying to be a coincidence. He'd heard it not even an hour before. Lifting his flashlight, he shot a bright yellow ray at the figure who covered its face, shielding its eyes from the burn.

"Well!" Bill chuckled, beaming brightly at Abby in all her glory. "What're you doing here?" The girl froze, remembering him from earlier. She gave him a look of concern, something Bill was amazingly suspicious of. The girl had warned them of a monster willing to eat the two, and now… She was in its evil lare… Odd.

"I- I-." Abby began, hands clasped behind her back, looking at her cutely polished shoes. She cleared her throat, averting her gaze from the man. "I didn't w-want you two to-... S-so I foll-owed you. I-I came to help…"

"Is that so?" Bill cooed, taking a step forward. The girl stepped back, looking him up and down. She was assessing him… "In that case, come on in! My partner has his hands full. He could use all the help he can get!" And, bringing a little girl along on a hunt for a shapeshifting murderer? Oh-ho-ho! Dipper's gonna go ballistic! Abby hesitated endlessly, looking from behind her to the front of her, where Bill stood, open arms and smiling, waiting for her to join him.

"I really just came to get you guys out of here… You shouldn't be in his house." Bill grinned at her. She sounded oddly hostile all of a sudden. Or, maybe that was just him.

"Oh, it's fine. It's fine! The stupid monster won't gobble you up, okay? Promise." Abby seemed slightly irritated by his comment, but remained otherwise calm.

"Are you sure?" She asked. Bill nodded, grinning and humming and yesing.

"Absolutely. Come along, girly." He beckoned for her to follow him into the next hallway. She trailed him blindly. Abby stayed close, trying repeatedly to hold Bill's hand in the dark house. He made sure to keep it out of reach every time. It was risky making too much physical contact with children. Might soften him internally. Instead, he stood tall, creating an imaginary wall that only existed within the confines of a child's mind. If he pushed her away enough, she'd get the idea.

"So, Abby was it?" Bill inquired. As he did, he placed his flashlight between his shoulder and his cheek, keeping it in place as he lit a cigarette. Smoking in front of children? Dipper was going to literally kill him. "What are you into?" Time to interrogate the suspect.

"Huh?" She asked dumbly, mind wandering on plains Bill couldn't reach. He smiled, patting her head sweetly, though stiff and deprived of any real affection.

"What are you into, kid? What do you like to do?" Bill asked again, his smile flesh splitting and painful in all aspects. The girl seemed confused, expression drawn by conflicted meanings and plans.

"Uh, I-. I-. You know, um-." She wiggled her fingers together, eyes shifting away as she looked to the floor. "Just… Girl stuff."

"Girl stuff? Like what?" Bill peered down, forcing the girl to gaze upon his callus features. She seemed to literally shrink in size.

"Um… My mommy told me not to tell strangers about myself."

"Really? Fascinating! Tell me more!" Abby stiffened, noting the mockery in his tone. His voice was loud, booming throughout the hallway with arrogance and self satisfaction. He absolutely loved the sound of his own voice. The child's lips curled inwards, frowning as she shook her head at him. Bill just tutted his tongue. "No need to be shy, kiddo. I don't bite."

"There's nothing to t-tell… I'm normal. There's nothing else to say."

"Normal? That's a weird way of phrasing it. Is there any reason for me to believe you're not normal?"

"N-no!" Abby squeaked, brow pinched as she stared up at him. The innocent look only worked to incriminate her.

"I just-."

"Bill?" A familiar voice echoing from the end of the hallway cut off her excuse. Bill looked up a bit more excitedly than he would have liked, compensating it with a dull expression. He lifted his flashlight, Dipper's slender form casting a long black shadow behind him.

"What're you doing here?"

"What do you mean 'what'? I went searching in the right hallway, at your majesty's orders." He bowed with derision, looking up all the while to give his signature grin. "What are you doing here? Thought you went snooping around on the left side."

"I got turned around a little. This place is a lot bigger than I thought." Bill snickered, loving the look of obvious confusion scribbled all over his face. This guy was hopeless.

"Sucks to suck, pal." Bill paused, looking to Dipper's empty hands. Oh, that's rich! "Hey, where's your flashlight, cutey?" There's no way he's that clumsy! No way-!

"I lost it in the mix up." Bill couldn't help but laugh at Dipper's misfortune, smirking as he shook his head in disappointment.

"Losing GFPD equipment? It's gonna come outta your paycheck." He sang fondly, playfully booping Dipper on the nose. He didn't shy away as Bill suspected he would. Instead, he simply took it, wrinkling his nose as the slight tap tingled his senses. "No matter. We can always share." He purred his tease, moving in on Dipper to wrap an arm around his wonderfully slender waist.

"Okay." Dipper said simply. He joined hands with Bill, linking fingers with the ones already wrapped around the flashlight, acting casual and indifferent to the contact. For others, this may have looked like a kind of unspoken forgiveness, accepting generosity and closing the gap that separates two physically. But, this was far from it. He had ascended to a whole other level of cold shouldering. It was even worse now. Now, he was talking. He was interacting on a professional level. In such a way that it deprived the partnership of any spice or flavor. He'd had enough of Bill's bullshit.

Because, now, he was refusing to react or behave in his usual manner. Dipper was being distant. Very, very distant. So much so that he didn't comment on the smoking. He didn't comment on the little girl. He didn't comment on Bill's hand rested teasingly on his lower back, pinky finger playing tug-o-war with Dipper's belt loop. He was stone faced. Uncaring. Bill was disappointed to say the least, but he could always fix him later. They'd patch things up no problem. Dipper would get tired of playing the victim and finally cut the shit. Because, if he didn't-. Well, it was obvious what would happen.

"So, where to, partner?" Bill asked, pulling him even closer. No reaction.

"Wherever's fine, as long as we get this done quickly." He replied, not sparing Bill a glance.

"Quickly? What are you, scared?" He teased. Again, no reaction. And, by the way his stance remained firm and collected, it didn't seem to be getting to him either.

"No." Dipper's tone was flat, eyes trained on the light just ahead of him. It was almost like a newly invented ignoring technique, and Bill wasn't liking it. Not at all. He wasn't giving Bill the comical payoff his teasing usually got him. That wouldn't do.

"Sure, you're not. I'll bet none of us are scared, right Abby?" He made a direct comment towards the little girl trailing behind, as though trying to sneak away into the darkness. She was most likely just falling back, though. She was a little girl after all. Bill hoped to arouse a kind of wrath in Dipper, just in case he hadn't properly seen the girl before.

"Uh-. I-I'm scared." That's it, girl. Play scared. Be scared. Dipper won't be able to hold back-.

"Then you should head home. We won't be long here anyways." He shrugged, looking behind him with a plain expression. Bill didn't show it, covering his irritation with smug indifference, but underneath his act, he was gritting his teeth. He was just being immature at this point. Fuck him.

"No! I wanna help." She fought, fists balled up in determination. The kid sure was persistent. Dipper just shrugged.

"Suit yourself." He sighed, shoulders relaxed and passive. Bill couldn't take much more of his attitude. He was about ready to release his waist and carry the flashlight by himself, when Dipper began to lean in on him.

"Pst. Bill." Dipper shot at him quietly, just out of earshot of Abby. Bill would have sung at his initiation of conversation, if it weren't for his pride. "Why is there a little girl in here? What's going on?"

"Found the kid that **you** were being all motherly to in the reading room. Said she wanted to help."

"Hmm… Suspicious."

"No shit, Sherlock."

"And she just showed up out of nowhere?"

"Yeah. I've been dragging her around so we could decide what to do with her. It. Whatever."

"You think she's the shapeshifter?"

"I know she's the shapeshifter. What am I, stupid? Get with the program, Dippy."

"What should we do about her?" Dipper peaked behind him, making sure Abby couldn't hear. She stared at the two, eyes wide; piercing. But, her features seemed deprived of understanding. They were in the clear for now.

"Kill it?" Bill offerened. To his surprise, Dipper didn't seem too against the suggestion. Instead, he cocked a brow up.

"How?"

"How? Dipper, we're cops. Where's your gun?"

"I didn't bring it."

"What-?"

"Did you bring yours?" Bill's hand smoothed against the slick feel of hard leather, gracing his fingertips pleasantly. And, within its confinements, was his wonderfully empowering weapon. He wasn't an idiot like Dipper. Of course he had. Instead of giving a verbal response, he patted the device against his hip, flashing a cocky smile. Looks like Bill was gonna save the day.

"Good." Dipper nodded curtly, looking behind him again. Her eyes met his under a bit of her forehead, having been looking down before. It was a menacing sight, cloaking the base of her face in a dark shadow. "When we get out of this hallway, I'll hold her down and you pull the trigger, okay?" Bill shrugged indifferently.

"Okay." He wasn't exactly up for taking orders from Dipper of all people, but if it meant finally getting to fill something with lead, he was all ears. They took a few more steps, strolling leisurely as the hallway stretched on, only for a break to be made. They ended up circling around right back to the entrance, chandelier still cracking and steps still creaking. It was a wide enough space for whatever shape the girl intended on taking once cornered. She'd fight back if they gave her the chance. It was good to be prepared for that. Their next movements came without thought or words, simply moving into position. Bill whipped out his gun, looking at the girl with cold, dead eyes. She squeaked, backing away from the armed man.

"What are you-?" She felt hands clutch her shoulders from behind, causing her to cry out in fear. Abby looked up, seeing none other than Dipper holding her in place. "W-what's going on-?"

"Cut the shit, shapeshifter. We're not falling for your tricks." Abby went bug eyed at the comment, as well as the horribly foul language.

"Sh-shapeshifter..? What are you t-talking ab-out?!" She began to shake, using her little fingers to claw away Dipper's bruising grip.

"Don't play dumb, princess. I think we both know what I mean." Bill lifted his gun, barrel aimed right at her temple. She began to sob, thrashing around in Dipper's grip. In all honesty, Bill was intentionally biting his time. He'd expected the shapeshifter to-. Well, shift. It would've been pretty cool to see, and the form it would take made him curious. The only thing stopping him from pulling the trigger was just that. Why wasn't it fighting back?

"Pl-please! Please, please, please! I didn't mean to-! To do whatever it is you think I did, but-!" She stopped, choking on a sob as Dipper's grip tightened.

"What are you waiting for, Bill? Pull the trigger before she can shift." Bill's eye met Dipper's, an expectant gaze steeped in high stakes and pressure. He knew Dipper was right. In that moment, Bill needed to pull the trigger. But, something felt off. Just a little, something seemed wrong. Either way, when Bill looked at his partner, he knew what the correct choice was.

"Right." Bill responded, readying his firearm with steady hands. Abby started screaming her head off, looking down the cold black barrel with pleading eyes.

"**No! No, no, no! Stop! STOP!**" Bill remained calm, left hand going to cock back the slide, a sharp 'chi-chick' making the little girl sob even harder. After a moment of dull silence from the two partners, Abby's cries the one thing filling the room, Bill's finger began to slide against the trigger. Heavy footsteps came bounding down the hallway to their left, swift and purposed with an untainted wrath, forcing all three figures to redirect their attention.

"Bill, pull the trigger." Dipper ordered, trying to regain Bill's lost attention. It was no use. He was looking expectantly down the hallway, those steps coupled with harsh, frantic breathing, racing after something far beyond. He stood there, gun still pointed at the girl, anticipating the new party member. "Bill, now-!"

A second flashlight came into view, shining on the three with wobbling hands. Its feet cut across the floor, forcing its body to snap to a halt, meeting Bill's eye in the entranceway with a small pant. It was Dipper.

"Bill, what's going on?! I heard screaming, and-!" The room went silent as a slaughterhouse, all eyes trained on what appeared to be a doppelganger. The second froze mid-sentence, catching sight of Dipper gripping a crying Abby by the shoulders. "What the fuck?" He looked at Bill pointing his gun at an obviously frightened little girl, shaking and begging for mercy just moments before. His head snapped from Bill to the now silent child to 'Dipper,' still holding her in place. For the first time in a long time, Bill was baffled. "...Dipper?" Bill stared at him, his right arm wavering as his barrel began to dip, mouth falling open just slightly as he examined the new addition.

"But-. But, that guy's-." Something clicked in his mind, turning back at the obvious imposter. Abby wasn't the shapeshifter. Dipper was. Bill was unable to smile at the man standing before him, now seemingly shielding himself with the girl's frail body. He'd made a fool of Bill. Without moving his hand away or averting his aim, he gazed upon 'Dipper' with a new eye. A new face. "The **shifter**." Bill growled, finger twitching against the trigger once more. He would've pulled it too, if he didn't still have Abby as a mini shield. He couldn't risk killing the little shit. It'd ruin his reputation as a respectable cop, after to mention Dipper would never let him live it down.

"So, it was you…" Bill grew dark, face contorting into something otherworldly as all other rationals blanked from his mind. 'Dipper' suddenly seemed far less collected, breaking into a sweat.

"What- No, Bill. You've got it all wrong, partner! He's trying to trick you. Don't let him-!" Bill's cold expression was enough to cancel all additional excuses. 'Dipper' grit his teeth brutishly, facial features starting to waver and bubble away as his cool was broken. He had only so many options now. The first having been using Abby as a scapegoat. And, once the extra body was out of the way, he could take out Bill. Then, Dipper. He suspected Dipper of being a real screamer, as he was when he met him in the bunker. So, killing him before taking his place hadn't been an option. It would've been hard coming up with a place to stash the body, for one. And he could never clean off all the blood. If they were seperated, it would've been just as easy to play pretend and pick them off one by one. But, that hadn't worked out as well as previously assumed.

'Dipper's' thoughts were interrupted by the subtle creak of wood where Dipper stood by the doorway. He was staring right at Abby. "Holy shit, Bill. Please, don't tell me you let a little girl in here! And-." Dipper paused, looking to Bill's feet, where he'd silently snuffed out his cigarette. "Were you smoking? Oh, Jesus."

"You see?" Bill looked at 'Dipper,' smiling with something that parodied warmth as he nudged his head in Dipper's direction. "That's Dipper. A real charmer, don't you think?"

"Up yours." Dipper shot. Bill laughed.

"Yup. That's you, alright." He smirked at his partner, giving a bare wink just to confirm even farther how Dipper this guy was. Not even a smile in return. What a queen.

"You-. **Damn humans!** It's not fair! Who says you get to live in luxury, while guys like me live in the gutters, huh? I'm sick of roughing it out in the woods!"

"Be glad we let you roam free when you escaped the bunker." Dipper responded, crossing his arms with a huff. Bill wasn't sure what they were talking about, nor did he care. All he knew was that he'd been bamboozled by some low class monster in his 60s, and he was ready to pop a cap in his ass.

"So, you killed them because… What? You were lazy? You wanted an apartment? Money? Didn't think the natural life was right for you?" Dipper continued, glaring at his doppleganger. "That's shit."

"Easy for you to say!" His hold of the child became ridiculously tight as he shook her on impulse. Abby whined mindlessly, confusion warping her thoughts beyond repair as she tried to sort out the gun pointing directly at her, as well as the young officer's evil twin brother. "You're not the one forced to live like this."

"You're not gonna be living at all in about three seconds. Drop the girl, Ditto." Bill ordered, hedging his bets with a step forward. 'Dipper' stepped back, bringing the girl with him.

"Take another step and I'll turn into a guillotine."

"You'll be dead before then." Bill responded effortlessly. He held his gun in place, getting a solid aim of the shifter's forehead. Was he allowed to shoot? The shapeshifter did have a hostage after all. But, if he released the girl, could he still kill him? Just for the hell of it? Bill wasn't sure. Either way, he was sure 'Dipper' was thinking over his options. The shapeshifter's stance was altered, both hands moving to cling onto Abby's left sleeve, knees bent just slightly, looking from left to right as he thought. He seemed unsure of himself, mulling over his next, and possibly final, move. It was now or never. 'Dipper' broke out in a smile, viewing Cipher with triumph.

"Not if you can't find me." In an instance, he was shoving the girl in front of him, forcing Abby to stumble forward and cling to Bill's pant leg for support. Cipher looked down on impulse, bursting with curses as he looked back up, only to see Dipper and 'Dipper' tussling for dominance. 'Dipper' collided with Dipper, bringing them both to the floor, a fight ensuing as one or the other started swinging. Bill growled loudly, pulling Abby to her feet and ordering her away. She was quick to comply, racing for the door and slammed it behind her, screaming all the while.

"**Damn it, kid!** Are you serious?!"

"Fuck you, Bill!" One of them said. Bill wasn't quite sure which. He got his gun back in position, aiming senselessly at the moshpit of twink-wars that went on before his feet. It was almost hot, if it weren't for the fact that he had to kill one of them. Bill groaned, smacking his hand against his forehead as one got on top of the other, only for a fist to send the other flying, followed by a knee jab from the bottom into his gut. There was no way he was killing Pinetree. Not like this! He had made too many plans to end it with a stupid gun shot. It'd be a waste of scheming. Besides, he could lose his credibility killing his partner. Then, he wouldn't be able to get close to Shooting Star and kill her, followed by Sixer, followed by Fez. There were too many obstacles. He still needed Pinetree. For now.

"Marco!" Bill shouted.

"Polo!" They both shouted back.

"Oh, come on, baby boy. Give me something to work with here! What's your favorite color?"

"Like you'd know what my favorite color is!" One of them growled back. Again, Bill wasn't sure which. He sighed, gun moving left and right, up and down, hoping to get lucky and just kill it by chance. Well, the one being pinned down had eyes just a tad darker than the one above him. But, then again, The one above looked slightly bulkier, kind of… Or, maybe that was just a trick of the light.

"Any chance I can get a second opinion?" The one being pinned was about to speak, only for the 'Dipper' on top to shut him up with a right hook. The bottom Dipper growled loudly, his fist colliding with top Dipper's nose, making it gush with blood. In retaliation, top Dipper grabbed his neck, squeaking him with his right hand, and gripping at his shirt sleeve with his left. Bottom Dipper fought back, keeping a tight hold of top Dipper's right wrist, slashing his nails across his attacker's left cheek.

"You little shit!" Top Dipper grunted, tightening his grip. Bill almost contemplated letting the superior Dipper win. He could play pretend, right? Wrong. It wouldn't be as fun messing with an imposter. That is, if he was hanging with the imposter. In which case, he'd be in perpetual uncertainty for the rest of the summer. He couldn't do that. Luckily, he didn't have to. Top Dipper tugged harshly on bottom Dipper's shirt sleeve, forcing it to rip off the seams. And there, perfectly exposed, wonderfully individual and unique, was a hint Bill would've never suspected of Dipper.

A tattoo.

And, not just any tattoo. A Pinetree. How flattering! The shapeshifter could've easily copied the birthmark across Dipper's forehead if he wanted to. It wasn't as easy to hide since he'd hit puberty and his hair started curling of its own accord. In many cases, it peaked out beneath the soft swift of his brown strands and gave far too much away. But, that tattoo had been covered well. Bill never once saw it; stained blue against his shoulder and proudly outlined in black. There's no way the shapeshifter would have known to add that detail. The sharp click of Bill's glock had both Dippers staring up in absolute fear.

Bill stood there, looking down at the wonderfully frightened bottom Dipper, pinned by the shoulder and neck, face slightly reddened from choking, clothes a mess, and expression both timid and submissive, as well as rebellious in its own speed. How had he not seen it? It was too obvious now. He trained his mind to remember that glorious expression, before pulling the trigger on top Dipper, blowing his brains out. Dipper's eyes widened, staring at Bill, body stiffening as the imposter on top of him collapsed across his chest, blood decorating Dipper's shirt collar. He breathed through his nose, trying with all his might not to break into a panic attack. But, the body was still warm and pulsing with blood. Dipper would've screamed in terror if he weren't slightly more relieved, knowing Bill had chosen the correct target.

"Y-You-." Dipper began, only for the shock to overtake his throat. He took a moment, forcing himself to sit up as the body slid away, now lying lifelessly in his lap. The Shapeshifter was weighty against his thigh, nerves twitching as his neck and back muscles convulsed against the bullet lodged in his frontal cortex.

'Don't scream Dipper don't freak out don't freak out remember what dad told you keep a cool head about these types of things you knew what you were signing up for when you took the job offer this is what cops do Dipper this is what we do.'

He began to shake, feeling the Shapeshifter's warm, heavy blood seep into his shirt. He could just make out the white strings of his buttons soak up the crimson soda, marking him red all over.

Dipper wasn't sure he would be able to stand on his own, only to feel a pair of hands grip the undersides of his arms. He yelped instinctively, only to turn and see Bill. Whether of his own free will or something natural inside him, Dipper's heartbeat slowed and he was able to breathe a bit more evenly. He was pulled to his wobbling legs, knees shaking as he fought to keep himself up. It was okay, though. Bill was there to hold him up if he stumbled.

"Alotta blood…" Dipper murmured, keeping his eyes trained on the drops of blood that shot across his palms. Did people really have that much in them?

"First time?" Bill laughed heartily, patting Dipper's head. The subjugating gesture brought him back a little more, willing a frown against his perpetually stunned expression.

"H-how did you know it was m-me?" He managed, turning to look back at Bill, still holding him up from behind. If it weren't for the queasy flop of his stomach as well as his disoriented footwork, Dipper was sure he would have stomped on Bill's toes by now. But, he didn't. He needed Bill as a crutch, whether he wanted it or not. And, in a very odd way, the contact was kind of… Comforting. Bill didn't answer his question directly, instead flashing a cocky smile. Bill leaned his head down, nuzzling his chin into the smaller's neck before breathing into his ear.

"I like your tattoo." He teased, savering the rigid tightening of Dipper's back muscles as he did. "You should show it off more. That much skin looks good on you." To his surprise, Dipper started to laugh at his compliment; a shaken, awkward laugh deprived of actual humor, but there in place of what he really wanted to do. And what did he want to do? Well, by the taut pull of his jeans, Bill could take a guess.

Dipper's mental wall had come down momentarially due to shock. Bill knew that much. He was shaken up by all the blood. The violence. No way in hell would Dipper have considered subconsciously flirting with his partner in the presence of a corpse otherwise. And, so much more openly, too. Must have been tiring for his brain, keeping what he really felt repressed for so long. He needed a little break. A taste of his temptation. To throw his a bone before he snapped his gates closed again and likely suppressed this memory, too. Along with everything else the kid hated about himself. For now, the wall was down, and only when it had its fill would Dipper come back and rebuild it.

"Y-yeah?" Dipper mused weakly, playing with his top button smeared in blood. Bill was loving that. He looked pretty good in it.

"Yeah." Bill purred back, pulling Dipper back just a little more before smoothing his lips over Dipper's exposed neck. It felt good, the soft skin rising in temperature against Bill's pursed lips, hairless and dotted in drops of blood. Dipper surged for a minute, mind and body colliding instantaneously, unsure of what he was doing or why it was wrong or right or whether he wanted it or not. Bill grazed the base of his throat, focing a hum from his throat. He seemed to relax all of the sudden, like a switch being turned off. Or on. Either way, the wall was down and Bill was getting what he could from it.

Bill opened his mouth, letting his snake like tongue pick at Dipper's dried sweat, as well as the potent tang of iron. He took everything into account, feeling Dipper push against him without thought, sensing an odd stir within his own gut. The kid was a wonderfully responsive specimen, after all. It wouldn't be that hard for him to arouse excitement in others. He lifted his tongue, riding it all the way up to the back of Dipper's ear, forcing the smallest of whimpers from the boy's throat. Bill chuckled darkly, biting at Dipper's earlobe before humming fondly.

"You like that?" Bill's palms moved from around Dipper's waist, now freelancing along the sides of his hips and down to his thighs. In Between them, just short of touching anything. Rubbing. Just rubbing the skin, stimulating the hard on above. "Tell me what you like. Tell me what you're into." The boy didn't respond, only huffing harder and louder as Bill's tease stumped him. He was into a whole bunch of shit, actually. But his mind was too far gone to properly articulate anything beyond his pitiful moans. Dipper turned his head, leaning away just slightly to get a good view of the man behind him.

Handsome. So, so handsome. And clever on top of that. Smart. Mysterious. Cocky as all hell, but it was wonderfully exciting at the moment. He wanted more of Bill. He wanted a taste of that horribly narcissistic asshole. Without warning, Dipper leaned in and kissed Bill square on the mouth. Bill was shocked to say the least, but he quickly got a hold of the situation. Their lips smashed against each other, heads turned to properly cradle either of their faces in the bruising lip lock. It was a good bit of fun feeling the heat build within Bill's groin, pressed searingly against Dipper's own erection.

The kiss quickly felt too chaste, and Bill bit the smaller's bottom lip before forcing his tongue in. Dipper didn't protest, though. He was too busy breathing, moaning, and slowly rocking his hips against Bill's thigh. Their tongues tangled with one another, wrestling endlessly as Dipper's fingers combed through his hair, and Bill finally got a proper hold of his puppet's pert ass. Bill was getting obsessively used to the human's lips pressed against his, mindlessly hoping to get to test out his hard on just once that day. That was when Dipper pulled away with a pop, dazed, looking up at Bill almost cross eyed.

The faint, child like grin across Dipper's lips instantly dropped when he saw his partner. Bill's lips were covered in blood. Not his blood, and not Dipper's. He brought a finger to his own lips, smoothing it across his swollen skin to feel the satisfying slide of blood against glossy arches. When he went to examine his hand, it was covered in nothing but blood. When he looked down at his shirt he was soaked in it, and so was Bill. Blood. He was covered in blood. Dipper began to shake, refusing to look behind him and note the body bleeding out. His eyes began to gloss over. Looking up, not at Bill, but somewhere close to him, he spoke in a whispering tone.

"W-... Will i-it wa-sh out…?"

"What?" Bill asked, not sure if he heard him right. Damn it. The kid was shutting down already.

"W-w-w-w-will the bl-... Will- Will it-?" Dipper began to convulse, shaking, frightened and lost as he clasped onto Bill's stained shirt, rubbing his burnt eyes against Bill's shoulder. He hiccuped once. Twice. Shivering and rocking and whining as the wall slowly rebuilt itself and the entire situation was locked up in a safe vault thirty leagues under the sea for him to never look into ever again. That was when Dipper collapsed into Bill's arms, having fainted out of panic. The next day, Dipper returned to his usual routine, having woken up in his bed with no recollection of the day before, aside from searching the mansion, fighting the shapeshifter, and vaguely recalling Bill buckling him up in the passenger's seat. Bill refused to disclose any further details.


	19. Everything You Need To Know

The shapeshifter made his move after throwing the child aside, bolting for my turned figure as Bill reflexively caught Abby, losing his focus. Moron. The shapeshifter lunged, grabbing either of my shoulders in an attempt to drag me to the floor. He clung to my sleeves, nails digging in as he shook me violently, trying to hook his feet behind mine and lead me to the floor. His efforts were successful, but not without a fight being put up.

My first instinct was a left hook aimed brutishly at his right cheek, which slipped across his face sloppily, catching at his ear and rolling along the side of his head before pushing past him to punch at air. I heard a heavy grunt, grabbing at my lower thigh before hoisting my leg up and forcing me to the ground. My arm hooked around the shapeshifter's neck, bringing him along for the ride. By the time Bill noticed the situation I was in, the shapeshifter had already shuffled himself within our partnership as an imposter.

"**Damn it, kid!** Are you serious?" I growled, working to keep the shapeshifter from mounting me as he tried to crain his right leg over my torso. My knee went up, creating a blockade against his attempts at dominance. I wasn't sure how long I'd be able to hold him off, and if Bill had just paid attention-. I shot him a dirty look, features smeared in the dark entryway, the only light coming from Bill's yellowed flashlight.

"Fuck you, Bill!" I summoned from my tight throat, working up the stamina to keep that imposter's ever present offenses at bay. I had to work fast and come up with something to distinguish myself from the pack, but with each struggle I made, the shapeshifter countacted it with an almost mirrored defense, forcing most of my brain power into simply staying on top. That didn't last long as he finally got his leg over me, taking the high ground with a sinister grin.

"Marco!" Bill shouted. I would've chopped him in the throat if he weren't aiming a gun.

"Polo!" We struggled on the floor relentlessly, in perhaps an effort to expose the other as an imposter. But, what would that prove? The real Dipper wasn't automatically the alpha of the two. I hoped Bill knew that. Looking up at my partner expectantly, I wished to see even a glimpse of realization against his otherwise baffled face. Bill looked down at me, lingering, only to snap his eyes up at the shapeshifter, a heavily set brow accompanying his contemplative features. He was completely lost. Needless to say, my partner was of no help.

I tried to speak; give him the help necessary to distinguish us. But, nothing really came to mind. What should I do? Curse at him? Insult him? Surely, he'd know it was me afterwards. Bill had a gun, though. I wasn't sure I felt like testing him in a high stress situation. Especially not under these circumstances. Something just pissed me off about the idea of this phony sliding into my place and doing lord knows what. That sounded even worse than getting shot. The shapeshifter knocked me on the left cheek, snapping off my thought process. I growled at him, looking up into my own eyes with a burning hatred I hadn't experienced since my Cipher days.

This bitch wanted to die.

My fist shot up, colliding heatedly with the imposter's nose, a satisfying 'pop' sounding from above. The satisfaction didn't last long as blood began to trickle across my knuckles, and the shapeshifter clutched my neck with vengeance. My hand caught his wrist, trying to lift some of the weight off my throat, but he kept squeezing. In a fit of panic, unable to breathe, think, and fight at the same time, I launched my hand at him.

My index and middle grazed him, leaving soft white marks of torn skin, while the ring finger missed him completely. It was the pink that really got him, slicing across his cheek just below his eye, forcing a beaded line of blood to surface. I began to smirk, noting the shaken hiss pushed from the imposter's throat. The victory was short lived as he made his grip impossibly tighter, cutting off my airways and forcing that stupid grin from my face.

"You little shit!" He spat, and for once, I whimpered at the transaction. I felt lightheaded, eyes slowly rolling to the back of my head, able to hear the heavy pulse of blood against my eardrums. I worked in vain to shake his fingers from my throat, closing around me in increments, but I continually lost focus as my vision started to spot. I opened my mouth like a fish out of water, noting the subtle cool of saliva trailing down my cheek as I pleaded for even a gulp of air. No such luck. God, was I going to die?

I began to float, eyes rolling back and snapping forward on several accounts, close to blacking out as tiny white stars twinkled in the distance. This was it. Was it? Yes. No. I wasn't sure. Maybe he'd stop once I was out cold. Not likely. Maybe Bill'd have pity on me and pull the trigger on the shapeshifter. Nothing was more humiliating than my life being in the hands of that guy. I felt a whine build up against the imposter's flexing palm, blocked and stuffed away as he pressed down on my neck. Come on, Bill. Come on! Do you really think I'd choke anyone but you to death?

The shapeshifter ripped my sleeve away, exposing that embarrassing tattoo I'd gotten my senior year. Senior year… Jesus christ. A sharp 'bang' wrestled me from my thoughts, followed by the sticky flow of red poured upon my chest. A shock went up my spine, looking to the smoking barrel aimed just above me, almost fooling me into believing I'd been shot. I short circuited right then and there. Hands, pulling at me. Sliding over me. Grabbing me. Touching me in a way far too alien to describe. And, something I reacted to like a puppet being controlled by string.

My hands moved before I did, riding their way through blurred blond, cupping onto cold skin attached to a nameless face. Curved lips, perfect in every form. Smooth. Smooth and rough and nipping when I disobeyed. I moved mindlessly, without question or protest or understanding, as I was dragged along into something I couldn't comprehend. Something deep and warm and pulsing and hot, with firm fingertips roaming; exploring. Not quite touching, but exciting. That shifted confidently just below my belly button, and almost dug into the skin where it poked. Large, clad in denim, and stimulating as all hell, whatever it was.

I contemplated exploring it. That's when I pulled away, viewing the smeared face before me. Red. Melted and warm, sliding along those perfect lips like a vampire's grin. The pungent stench of iron rawred through my nostrils, bubbling up and spilling over within the confines of my mental cup. Too much. Too much blood. On their lips. My lips. My shirt. My shoes. Seeping past the elastic of my boxers, sliding between my legs and down my thighs. I'd kissed those lips. I'd tasted them. And they tasted good-.

'No. No no no no no no no no no no no this is wrong Dipper this is wrong what is wrong with you why are you like this why are you like this this is evil not normal not normal why can't you just act like everyone else this isn't okay this isn't right why why why are you like this?'

A dark form slid up my back, perching its chin against my shoulder to whisper in my ear. A melting figure of black ink, smiling vengefully with yellowed teeth and golden eyes, telling me that the blood would never wash out. That the stain would never go. That I was screwed for all times, because there was nothing to be done against it.

'You can't wash out the stains.' My mother had said. 'You can't wash out the stains. Just throw it away.'

Because, she was a perfectionist. Everything had to go her way.

Everything.

I began to sink deeper and deeper into the floor, dark ink pooling around my ankles, the only living support the body that clung to hold me up. But, it only grew farther away as I was pulled by the cloth into an unknown shadow world. For the blood. I was filthy. And, as the darkness worked to consume me, I had but one question to ask: Would the blood wash out?

Piedmont, California. September 6th, 2014: My freshman year.

Dad caught a flight back home the week prior, having spent the last day of summer celebrating Mabel and my 15th birthday, as any parent should. California was no longer welcome to him since the divorce. Not since the yelling, the strained smiles, the sleeping on the couch, and the piping hot coffee mug lugged at his head. Because, dear God: They hated each other.

That's not to say that the house was broken. The family wasn't a mess. In fact, everyone was relatively behaved outside of their four walls, to the point of neighbouring surprise once the separation was finally announced. We were a prime example of your average family, and our parents had been a prime example of forbidden love. 'Catholics and jews don't mix.' That's what everyone on mom's side said at least. But, they had been in love. Wasn't that enough?

Probably not.

Their first marital fight happened on what should have been the happiest day of their lives: Childbirth. A baby girl, with cute little toes and soft, wet nails. Rosey cheeks, puffed up to seal away her pretty blue eyes. Most babies had them. Her mouth popped open with a toothless grin, cooing and crying with something other wordly to newly announced parents. You'd think they were cradling a million dollars. Their perfect life as parents lasted for about five minutes.

Then, I was born, and mom demanded a circumcision. Dad said 'hell no.' The argument spiraled out of control, stretching on and on for months while my mother bawled her eyes out, unable to properly savor her motherhood. Because, that's how it was done in her family. Not my dad's. There was a kind of tradition to be followed, and she'd expected him to trail behind her as she led the way. It wasn't until then that my father understood who she was. High school sweethearts always seemed to work like that.

My mother wanted me to grow up, go to college, get a high paying job, and marry a beautiful house wife, as every man in her family did. My father… My father didn't really care. But, no way was he letting some stranger snip my tip. That was that. They'd been arguing ever since. About churches and synagogues. Crosses and the Star of David. The torah and the Bible. All while I stood there, wondering who in the fuck cared whether or not we celebrated Christmas or Hanukkah this year.

And one day when they'd decided Mabel and I needed some 'fresh air,' they shooed us from of the house to get things in order. The divorce papers. Because, and I quote, 'We didn't want you two feeling the weight of it all.' Believe it or not, coming home after risking your life to save the world only to discover your parents are splitting up is kind of a slap in the face. Would've been nice to know in advance. I might have been able to come to terms with it over the summer during some mythical journey about life, embedded with a cryptic lesson on accepting change and learning to roll with the punches. But, this? It was like dropping an anvil.

It all happened so fast. Everything was already in order by the time we returned. Dad had a place set up in New York; a new job as a literature teacher in Buffalo. Mom boxed his belongings up herself, even being so cold as to throw away their wedding photos. Oh, Mabel had been a sobbing mess, and I was officially an atheist. In short, our birthday this year was awkward. Especially with him around. He stood at mom's side, arm draped over her shoulder, watching with expectant eyes as Mabel unwrapped her gift. A new bedazzle gun. The self satisfied grin he shot her was all the fuel I needed to roll my eyes.

John did that a lot. He liked to pamper us. Pet us on the head. Really show us how 'cool' and 'hip' he was for buying our affection. Mom never let us turn the offers away. She never let us return the gifts or say, 'Thank you, but I can't accept this.' Because, she was on his side. She needed him to prove to us that we preferred her live in boyfriend to our own father. Which was complete bullshit. And, not to go spreading rumors, but John didn't make me feel comfortable at all.

He wasn't exactly a respectable man. At least from what I saw. John liked to lounge around the house when mom wasn't home, and only really did anything when in her immediate line of vision. He had a job that paid well, but he was reckless with his money. He never really spent it with a reasonable cause in mind, and I knew it made mom secretly antsy. But, she never said anything. How could she without scaring him away? This was her revenge on dad, searching for a younger, handsomer upgrade from what she'd originally been sleeping with. Because, she and John did sleep together. A lot.

John told me himself.

He always looked at me a certain way when he did, first pulling a relished grin, followed by a more calculated expression, giving my open disgust a once over. I never understood his motives for telling me such personal information, and I was very direct about ordering him to stop. He never did. John just smiled, leaning back in his chair, lifting a black coffee to his lips before blowing at it smuggly. On one particular day I heard John tell me about it, it was a Wednesday. Just a week into the school year. My first year in high school, and I was anxious as all hell.

Mabel and I only had two class periods together, and they were both electives. Meaning they weren't as serious. Meaning the teachers would let you sit wherever you wanted. Meaning students would start talking and making friends and cliques and groups. Meaning Mabel would be snatched up no problem, and I'd be-. I tried my best to ignore him, but for some reason, John was especially set on glorifying the whole situation.

"-And her skin was so soft-."

"Oh, gross, man! I'm eating." I gobbled down a mouthful of cereal, tugging shakely at my hair. My eyes remained fixated on the makeshift pages of my journal, a cheap adaptation of the original but still charming within its own league, trying to block his words from my brain. He always did this when it was just us two, and John knew damn well I was too awkward to address either of the women of the house on the matter. I still got sweaty even thinking about it. No way was I verbalizing it.

"Oh, come on, sport. I won't judge-!"

"I'm not listening." I bunched up, blocking either of my ears with the skin of my shoulders as he blabbed on. It didn't do anything to keep him quiet, but at least it meant I'd tried something.

"Just thought it'd be a nice bonding experience, talking about relationships and stuff. You know, like father and son." I stopped myself from correcting him in that instance; from slamming down my book and saying 'You're not my dad.' That was too cruel, even for him. And, again: Awkward. I said nothing, tilting my bowl back before draining away the last drops of milk that pooled at the bottom. When I pulled away, I could feel a single trail of 2% slide over my lips, down my chin, and hang there for my to wipe away. John leaned forward to flick it away before I could, brushing the base of his thumb against the lingering drop.

"You saving that for later?" John laughed, pulling his hand back.

"Thanks." I responded simply, drawing my eyes away from his. John had a poor understanding of this wonderful thing called 'personal space,' which he openly flaunted daily. Standing a bit too close. Breathing down people's necks. Hands resting on knees. Ankles brushing against others. John was the king of it. Though, it was odd. Mabel said she hadn't noticed.

"No, but for real. You don't have anyone in your life? A high school sweetheart? You?"

"What do you mean, 'me?'" It was a hostile accusation, one followed by two hands placed firmly on my hips. Naturally, I was the nerdy twin. The lesser of the two. In looks, that is. Ever since elementary, I'd been bullied for being lanky and big headed. Every class I went to, every new school, every state visited, I was the awkward sweaty kid in shorts. And, that was something I had to live with. It made sense over time that I would always be, and it was best to just accept it.

But, things were changing. Things changed slowly, at such a pace that those closest to me couldn't see it. I was getting taller. Inch by inch, I grew at night and woke closer to the ceiling than before. My hair began to curl at the tips, like old paint peeling from the walls, looping and bouncing when shook. The lasting baby fat was finally shrinking away, leaving a slimmer, more pointed chin in its wake. Not that I noticed. Not that anyone I knew noticed. But, John. John noticed.

"What do you mean 'what?' I'm sure you've got women falling left and right at your feet, champ."

"Um… No." I slung my book bag over my shoulder, aiming for the kitchen door. The school bus wasn't scheduled for another ten minutes, but I could wait. Hell, I would wait if it meant getting out of here.

"Oh, bullshit! You're a stud!" I winced at his foul tongue, writing his language off as a sign of lacking intelligence. But, of course. I'd never cursed a day in my life.

"I need to get going." I made my way to the door, hoping to escape this stupid conversation as soon as possible, only to feel a hand wrap around my waist.

"Whoa, whoa, hey. What's the rush? I can drive you if you need-."

"I'm fine. I don't need a lift. The bus is coming soon."

"How soon?"

"Soon." I managed, trying to scoot out of his touch without letting on how badly I wanted to get away from him. No need to act hostile. John was mom's boyfriend. I was sure she knew what she was doing. At least, I used to be.

"Sit down, Dipper. Relax! You've always got your nose in a book. I'm sure whatever it is they're teaching you over there, you already know it."

"I'm gonna miss the bus, John. I need to head out." This time, I made the first move, putting my hand over the one wrapped around my waist. His pinky finger was starting to slip up my shirt. I lightly tapped away at his hand, signalling for him to release me. He did, sliding away with something between hesitation and haste. John cleared his throat, looking behind him where the living room was.

"Is Mabel up yet? Where is she?"

"Probably catching a ride with one of her friends."

"Oh, so she's got friends at school then?"

"Uh, yeah. She's Mabel." I almost laughed at my own comment, but it was such an obvious thing, who wouldn't know?

"'She's Mabel.'" John mocked, putting his fingers up to quote me. "So what? You're Dipper. That's gotta mean something to you." I shrugged at him.

"Sure. Yeah." But, I wasn't a social butterfly. That was my point. I wasn't putting myself down. I was just being honest. People liked Mabel. Everyone liked Mabel. It was just one of those things I had to live with. "It does."

"What does it mean to you, champ?" John was really getting on my nerves now. He wanted so badly to make a connection with me, he had the gall to try using my insecurities as fuel. I paused, whipping out my phone to check the time. I had about eight minutes left. Not that I'd tell John that.

"A lot. Listen, John. I've really gotta go now. I'm gonna be late today."

"I can drive-."

"I've got a bike just in case." John laughed at me.

"You're not gonna swoon the ladies showing up on that hunk of junk." Even though it was the bike dad had gotten me for my birthday. John still said it. Something sharp curved down my spine, only to shoot back up in a hot flare of disdain. My fingers tightened around the rough fabric of the backpack strap slung thoughtlessly over my right shoulder, forcing a sort of heat into it. The silence should've been cue enough that I didn't appreciate him badmouthing my father's gift. But, he just sat there, smiling and shaking his head, like he'd said something obvious and enlightening and oh so intelligent. Yes, wise sensei. You're just so fucking smart, aren't you?

"I guess not." I laughed back, my teeth snapped shut in a grizzly smile, holding back the urge to left hook his stupid face.

"But, really. Hows about I drop you off today? I've got a really nice car, you know."

"I know. Thank you, but I'm good. Really. If I leave now, I can still catch the bus."

"You sure?" John really stressed it, leaning on his elbow to give me a strained expression. Like, 'you're making a big mistake kid don't pass up this once in a lifetime opportunity.' It would've been great to inform him how unwilling I was to get in any confined space with him. John absolutely reeked of cologne.

"I'm sure. See ya." For the third time, I made my way to the door. And once again, I was stopped. Not by his hands this time, but his voice.

"God damn, Dipper!" John whistled, tilting his head jokingly. He snorted, giving me a once over before slapping his hand against the table in good humor.

'Don't pay him any mind Dipper don't ask he's nothing but a jerk whatever it is he's gonna say it's not worth hearing trust me he's just gonna make fun of you they always do just keep walking.' I turned around to face him.

"What?" I asked, cursing myself as I did so. He only whistled again, savoring my slow turn as I faced him.

"You been doing squats or something?" John leaned forward, propping his head in his hand as he continued to smirk, a lazy look of gratitude slicing his face. Like an idiot, I took the bait and responded.

"No… Why?" John's face lit up like I'd offered him a million dollars, and I was left with the overwhelming tingle of falling into someone's trap. I braced myself for his response; a reticule of my poorly kept physique. A recommendation to exercise more. A reminded to eat healthy. Wouldn't be the first time some big shot strolled up to me and graciously enlightened me on how fucking pathetic I was. But, it was whatever. I hardly considered them anymore, and whatever expectations he had set for me, I already knew I couldn't reach it. Why bother? John just laughed.

"Well, you're definitely putting your genes to good use." He paused, looking me in the eyes with a smirk, checking for signs of understanding. I just stood there, confused, readjusting my backpack strap, hoping to be done with this. With a sly tilt forward, John pursed his lips, winking at me. "You've got a nice ass, man."

I blinked rapidly at him, waiting for some kind of follow up; an add on to fix whatever slip he had just made, saying something that was definitely not true. Of course not. He was just picking fun. Before I had a chance to question him, John started chuckling. Not out right laughing, but more patting himself for his odd comment. And, I was too awkward to leave him laughing alone. I laughed along, awkwardly of course, rubbing my shoulder and looking away from John. He made me feel all kinds of uncomfortable.

"Yeah, well. You should probably head out now, ay?" John seemed a bit more relaxed than before, leaning back in his chair, a content sigh passing his lips where he sat. Again, he gave me a once over, and I could've sworn I heard him say something.

Jesus, you look just like your mom…

I tried not to linger on it. I said nothing, staring blankly for a moment, only to turn away. And, as I did, I caught from the corner of my eye a slight movement from him. John lifted his thumb to his lips, tongue flicking out over it, only to pull the digit in and savor the taste. The same thumb he'd used to flick away the milk on my chin.

"See you after school, sport."

"Bye." I was quick about finally escaping him, making great progress as I speed walked to the bus stop, clutching my journal and making period glances behind me. Is he following me?

Highschool wasn't as cruel as middle school had been, but it was certainly different. In more ways than one. The entire building absolutely wrecked of hormonal imbalances and sexual repression. Students didn't have the same reserve about making out in front of lockers or stairwells or lunch lines the way they did in middle school. And, people seemed so used to it, no one really paid them any mind. Or, they tried not to.

I absolutely hated walking the halls of my high school. The place was swarming with students and faculty, cutting within my line of vision, shoving, grabbing, and being otherwise unorthodox as they pushed beyond me. I almost missed the embarrassing years of lining up in the hallways, single file, from A to Z. At least it was organized. But, there were benefits to being so clustered. No one really saw the little guy crouched over his pine tree journal, sketching up aqua dragons and fairy-ghoul hybrids, mumbling and scratching his head, being otherwise nerdy.

Nah. Everyone was too focused on Ashley Kimbra, who's just been knocked up by the school's history teacher Mr. Taylor. Or Josh Becker, our best quarterback, caught barebacking the mascot behind the gym at homecoming. They never noticed me. As long as I wasn't stupid and wasn't sexual, people stayed out of my face. It was great, finally having that option. I spent most of my freshman year studying. And, when I wasn't doing that, I was exploring California's back yard, searching for my next mystery, observing the environment, and discovering something new.

All I really discovered was how abnormally normal Piedmont was. It was more fantasy than reality scanning the streets for a beast of unimaginable horror, but I was smart enough now not to go asking people for advice on it. Not in Cali, that is. They'd just look at me funny. My academic achievements weren't anything to sniff at, from what my mom told me. She was already looking into college programs, academic scholarships, and elite fraternities for me to join once it was time. Not to mention my outside activities.

I joined robotics, along with journalism during lunch and the mathletes over the weekends, just to put some extra weight under my belt for the college I actually wanted to go to. My mom seemed proud of me, saying I'd be a great 'doctor' or 'pharmacist' one day. As for Mabel…

Well, mom never expected her to leave the house, anyways.

But, Mabel was alright with that. She had her crown at school, as the cute bubbly sweater princess that liked sneaking her pig into class. With straight white teeth and soft brown curls that rolled over her shoulders, she almost looked too pure to even date. That never stopped her, though. By the end of the year, she'd already dated eight different freshmen, three sophomores, four juniors, and a senior. Needless to say, she was a common topic of gossip. Which she loved.

My crown was at home, where mom hung my report card on the fridge and cooked my favorite meal to celebrate, and dad would call me on the phone to congratulate me, and we'd eventually get off topic and catch up with one another. What was school like? How was the new job? Did you hear about the next installation of 'Space Battles?' Was it any good? How is the Misses? Is she doing okay? And, her boyfriend. What's he like? What's his job like? Does mom like him that much? How tall is he, again? Tell me everything you know about him, now-. You know what? Never mind. Sorry I asked. Then, the phone would go silent, and neither of us would speak. Simply hearing the other breathe, trying to pick out background noises and alien tones. The honking of taxis, paralleling the soft beep of suburban minivans. Was he at a payphone? How was he doing, moneywise? What was he eating, now that mom refused to make him a home cooked meal? Was he doing okay? Did he miss us? Did he miss home?

I refused to ask.

The call always ended with one or the other coughing, sighing, or sniffing.

I love you.

I love you, too.

It was kind of numbing.

The end of the year pulled up out of nowhere, and it was impossible to stop. Every one of my classes were revving up for finals, piling on study guides and extra credit, linking Smash Course videos, setting up study groups.

Not to mention clubs. My robotics team was preparing for their scrimmage against North Himen, our school's main rival. I had an article due thursday for journalism on last night's big game, and everyone knew damn well I had no idea what was going on the whole time. The mathletes weren't really doing anything serious since finals were around the corner, but one of the members came out as a Shrekkie and a whole bunch of drama started blowing up in everyone's faces. I didn't have the stamina for extra shit.

And yet, I got some.

I missed the bus home. On the worst of all days, because it was raining cats and dogs outside, so no way I was riding my bike back. She'd give me hell if I tracked mud on her new carpeting. When I tried calling my mom to have me picked up, her phone went to voicemail. When I texted Mabel to ask if mom was home, she said she'd check and never got back to me. Probably reeling in another head quarterback or edgy goth to fon over for a week or two. I couldn't blame her, though. Getting that kind of attention did things to people.

I sighed, sliding my phone back in my pocket as I sat inside the school, watching the janitor grumble lowly about dirty teenagers as he pushed his bristle broom along the teal flooring. I worried my lip, looking to the round white clock over head, ticking second by second. 3:47 The rain didn't stop. If anything, it got heavier with every minute snatched from my belt. Every moment I could be using, spent on video games or books or actually getting shit done. Nope. I was here, twiddling my thumbs, waiting for a dry spell. I didn't have time for this.

'John has a car.'

'Yeah, but John's **John**.'

'You think he'd be willing to give us a lift?'

'I'd rather walk.' I checked the forecast on my phone. A big, fat, black cloud with a frowny face. Shit.

'...How soon do you think he can get here?'

Sighing begrudgingly, I shot him a half assed text that just barely suggested I needed a lift. Like, I don't need a lift, but if you're not busy… John was quick to respond, an enthusiastic reassurance of laugh-crying emojis and prayer hands, because he was 'blessed' or something. Nevertheless, he was on his way, telling me to 'sit tight ;).'

John was in front of my school within minutes, honking his horn once before reclining the driver's seat, looking relaxed with his dark shades on. Because, every sane person knows that when a report goes out for possible flash flooring, the first thing you'll be needing is a pair of fucking sunglasses. I stood under the school's hooded entrance, backpack placed readily overhead, prepared to race out in the rain and have yet another unavoidable encounter with my newly acclaimed step father. Very newly. Like, I still have my plane ticket from when we flew to Colorado for the wedding new. Less-than-a-month new. I still hadn't come to terms with it.

"How was school?"

"Fine."

"You talk to any girls today?"

"No." John pulled out of the parking lot, aiming for the main street. The road was paved across several neighboring drives, swamped against clogged up drains, plugged with dried leaves and straw wrappers. Small plastic tricycles lied turned on their sides, patting against soaked grass. In retrospect, I was secretly grateful he'd been so inclined on picking me up. There was no way I was walking four miles in muddy converse.

"Why not?"

"Not interested." I looked out the window, chin in hand, watching gallons of rain shower along the streets.

"What do you mean 'not interested?' Not interested in dating? Or…" I said nothing, watching the car's speeding tires create ridiculous tiddle waves. "Not interested in girls?"

"What? No. I just-. Who cares, right?" I shrugged my shoulders, eyes closed, sinking into the soothing lullaby of a storm outside. "I'm not really into it."

"Hmm… Alright, respectable. Well, how's robotics going for you?"

"Fine."

"Journalism?"

"Good."

"What about the mathletes? I warned you not to join those guys."

"Warn, you did. We're doing good." Each question was as automatic as the response. We'd built up a kind of grey relationship, where neither parties really talked about their interests in depth, since we had almost nothing in common. Instead, we kept the conversation within a small circle of activities. School. Homework. Clubs. Girls, in very vague terms, and always with shallow responses. That was more of John's thing. At least, that's what I had thought.

By the time he turned onto the highway, we'd both gone completely silent. It was boring, talking to each other, and maybe it was all my fault. But, I didn't really care if I put effort into it or not. Conversating wasn't my idea, and it wasn't really John's idea either. It was my mom's. A steaming hot pile of bonding, right? Right. She probably felt guilty for completely changing Mabel and my life in the period of- Oh, about a year. Might as well make the best of it.

I started to sink, the vibrations of the car mixing with the vibrations of the rain, rocking my mind into a mental checklist. I no longer noticed the passing cars, blurring trees, and buzzing radio station John insisted on tuning into. Instead, I folded myself up, nice and neat, inside a cozy layer of my mind, reading over the day's events.

'Let's see. I've got a project due friday in Mrs. Key's class. I'll have to text Jordan about the powerpoint. Who should do the key points slide? Probably me. I'll let her do the peer review. She's more social than I am. What about robotics? We've still got to figure out what's wrong with the programming before our next scrimmage, or couch Meeslee's gonna throw a fit. And, journalism. I still have no idea how football works… I wonder what mom's cooking for dinner-.'

A shock road up my spine, stripping away my cozy mental blanket with a start, forcing me to wake the fuck up. John's hand rested gently on top of my knee, patting me. It was completely uncalled for, and a little awkward. But, that wasn't what surprised me. No. It was how big his hands were compared to the size of my leg. My knee pretty much disappeared under his palm. John wasn't all that big of a guy- maybe 6'2 or 6'3- but he looked to drape his entire palm over me. My eyes remained trained out the window, though my brain was completely shot by the contact.

We weren't on the highway anymore. Not driving, but parked just by the road, letting the windshields still as he stopped the car. He used his free hand to nab the key, the car's engine cutting off like death. Something was wrong with this scene. What was he doing?

"Dipper." I could hear him shift around in his leather seat to face me, his determined expression reflecting across my window. I acted like I didn't hear him, tapping my finger on my cheek as I fought against the urge to grimace. Was he trying to have a moment? Some father-son scene he'd watched in a movie? I hated cheesy stuff like that. "Dipper." John repeated, squeezing my knee as he did. This time, I visibly flinched, tilting my head just barely to view him in my peripheral vision.

"Hmm? Oh. Uh, yeah?" I played dumb, my eyes lighting up with fake realization as I met his gaze, like I'd been lost in thought. His features hardly shifted, relaxed or changed as he examined me. I could feel his heartbeat through where his skin pressed against mine, noting the subtle slick of sweat when his wrist twisted to rub my boney knee. I held back a groin, internally grossed out by the idea of his anything smearing over me. It wasn't sanitary. Plus, it was his. John looked as though he was going to lean back, pull away his hand. But, he didn't. He just sat there, staring at me with furrowed brows and a clenched jaw. After a minute, he finally spoke.

"You're doing pretty well in school, huh?" John's tone was set light with a small hilt at the end, but his eyes were cold. Lacking in warmth, and strangely animalistic. His fingers flinched, catching a bit of extra skin near my thigh, only to go back to rubbing my bare knee. He must have felt awkward about actually trying to bond for once, or else the atmosphere wouldn't have been so heavy. But, if so, why were his eyes so certain? I swallowed lightly, failing to cloak my mounting discomfort, followed by a nod in conformation.

"Yeah... I made the honor roll again."

"All A's?" I shook my head.

"I've got a B in Mr. Jackson's class." John chuckled lowly at my response, his grip openly tightening as he stopped rubbing in exchange for squeezing. My body became ridgid, hearing the masculine draw of his voice. It was so smooth…

"Well, you deserve an A, for whatever class he is." His thumb rubbed circles along my inner thigh, eyes riding down my leg as he did so. "You know you can always come to me if you need help. I'm sure I could teach you a thing or two…" His voice trailed off, looking back up at me with an odd smirk. In that moment, I had no idea what that face was supposed to mean. I'd never received a glance like that in my life. But, somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain, I caught wind of a dimly lit side of me. Something I never knew was there.

"U-um. Sure. Yeah, that sounds-." He leaned forward, just an inch. My body reacted before I could, forcing my entire back against the car's window, shoulders bunching up as I watched him like a hawk. "-Fine. That sounds fine."

"Does it? Does it really?" Another inch between us, gone. And, if I wasn't any wiser, I would have sworn his hand slid up just a little. "Is studying what you actually wanna do with me?"

Um… yes?

"What are you talking about?" My eyes snapped ahead of him, viewing the busy road that zipped past us. We weren't even spared a glance.

"You know Dipper, you're a really smart kid." His phone dinged with a text. He ignored it, still staring at me like a primal beast. "You ever take an IQ test?"

"N-no. I-. I've never really seen a point to." John leaned in again. His hand definitely hitched up that time, now resting at my mid thigh, squeezing; a searing team of five fingers digging into the meaty pale flesh that twitched beneath his grasp, uncaring as they slipped under my pant leg to get there. My breathing picked up, looking anywhere but that hand. What…?

"I think you should." John took his other hand, placing it tactically on the bottom of my seat, just below my right leg.

"O-okay. I'll do it when we get home." Time to wrap it up, John. Let's get things going. Dinner's probably waiting for us on the table and, if I'm being quite frank, you really suck at bonding. John looked at me puzzled, lips pursed, eyes slanted, brows raised, hand now accustomed to rhythmically sliding up and down my thigh. His nails were getting dangerously close to my iliac crest with each swipe he made up my leg, only to slide back down just before making contact. My breathing visibly picked up, and I knew he could tell I was nervous. John's hand stopped moving, settling high up my thigh, squeezing hard enough for me to wince. He scowled at me.

"You really are a smart kid, Dipper." That voice… He didn't sound like John anymore. Not the one I knew, and not the one he pretended to be around mom. It was darker now. Low. Sinister and set in conspiracies. A little secret he felt like letting me in on, as long as I didn't tell anyone else.

"Th-anks." I choked. His hands really were big… The one placed peacefully under my seat began to move, forcing my hairs to stand on end as his fingers made their long awaited journal: Across the chair's leather base, under my leg, beyond my thigh, and just below my ass. I started shaking, looking into his deep brown eyes, cold and calculated. "W-what are you-..?" Something alien stirred in my gut, cutting off every breath I took. This… This isn't bonding. This is mating. John… He wants to-. His newly added hand tested a squeeze, all the while his eyes bore into my dilating pupils. He smirked at my reaction.

"So smart… I thought you'd catch on by now. Do you get it? Do you get what I've been doing?" Doing? What has he been…? Dropping hints. He was dropping hints. A lot of them. Asking if I had someone special in my life. Praising me. Telling me how smart I was. How attractive. Reminding me that he did a good job with her, so who's to say he couldn't do it with me?

Holy shit. This guy was-.

I froze, the only message clicking in my mind to nod and shut up. So, I did. John's smile widened, giving yet another squeeze as he moved to be nose to nose with me. "You ever kissed a man before?"

I said nothing, sucking in my bottom lip as it began to tremble. The alien swirl in my gut became an absolute typhoon of emotions, questions and disbelief. And worse, creeping up to overpower each expression: Curiosity.

John smells… good… today… He usually just smelled like cologne or body spray. Mom liked buying him stuff like that when she came across it, and he always went overboard. But today, he smelled softer. Sharper. Like aftershave and oranges, as well as something else. Kind of powdery. John's hair wasn't all gelled up today, either. It didn't look to have that stiff prickle of cheap products and sprays it usually did. Instead, it had a nice volume to it, slicked back in a tar black stream of dark hair. It was perfect for amplifying his cheek bones. He had amazing bone structure. And such tan skin. Clear shaven. Thich, black eyebrows. A broad chest. Had John always looked like that?

"I…" My mind went blank, what I thought and what I should say two completely different answers. In the end, I just shook my head, eyes trained on his smile. A bit of tongue flicked out, wetting his lips when he noticed my gaze.

"Would you like to?" Blood pumped behind my ears, hearing that.

Yes.

No.

Yes.

No.

…

Yes.

I kept my lips shut, going bug eyed at his suggestive questioning. I'd never been offered something like this before. Not from a girl. And, definitely not from a man. The only person I'd ever really 'kissed' had tasted like pool water and fish breath. This was a completely different situation. This wasn't prepubescent Dipper Pines. This wasn't completely innocent, completely unaware Dipper. I knew what people did when they got intimate, and it always made me uncomfortable when I imagined a man and woman together. But, what about two men?

'Dipper, stop.'

John sat there, waiting for his que to get things moving. When none came, he decided to make the decision himself.

'He's so tall.'

'Tell him to quit it.'

He started leaning in, tilting his head to match up with where my lips would be.

'That color looks good on him.'

'You need to go home, Dipper. **Now**.'

His hand slip up again, this time pressing against my V-line. He prodded at it boldly, forcing my breath to catch in my throat.

'When was the last time I saw him this close?'

'You can't do this. You know that.'

I wiggled just slightly under his grip, but remained otherwise still.

'It was so nice of him to pick me up.'

'He's just gonna use you. Don't let him have this.'

John's eyes slid close, but I couldn't look away. I was absolutely mesmerized.

'It's kind of romantic.'

'John doesn't **care** about you! Stop it!'

He sucked in a final breath, closing the gap between us.

'...Just one kiss.'

The next scene was a blur. I don't quite recall the kiss, as short as it was. But, I remember him being close. Unprofessionally so. Close enough to cage me up against the door. Close enough to feel my heart pump against his chest. Close enough to feel the hand up my pant leg play with the elastic of my boxers. I have a vague recollection of screaming into the kiss, pushing him away in a rush of understanding. Realization. I was Dipper Pines, age fifteen, living with my recently divorced mother, feminine twin sister, and-.

And my fucking step dad.

Holy shit.

Holy shit, oh God jesus christ, no. Before I even knew what to do, I was crying.

"W-what the fuck are you doing?!" My hands were clasped over my mouth, trying to still the burning throb of pent of sobbing that sliced my throat. The noise I made in place of it was far more pathetic. I refused to look at him, eyes trained on the floor as tears began to well up.

"What do you mean 'what'?! You didn't stop me!" John was absolutely furious with me and my immature outburst. It was just a simple kiss, right? No harm in getting friendly. "What the fuck are you crying for? I didn't do anything!"

"You-..." I stopped myself, letting out a cry. Why was I crying so much? Why did it hurt so bad? I felt so guilty all of a sudden.

'You wanted that kiss, Dipper. You wanted that.'

"I didn't do anything! Stop making stuff up!"

"It literally just happened! Why would you-?"

"Jesus christ, you fucking kids! You think everyone's all over you!"

"You kissed me, jackass!"

"**Watch your mouth!**" John barked, hand firmly gripping the bomber jacket mom bought me for my birthday. It felt light years from where I was now. He jerked me forward, forcing a whimper from my tight lips, suddenly on a whole other plane of understanding.

'Had I been wrong? Did I do something wrong? Was I reading into this too much? God, but-. But, he kissed me.'

"**I-.**" John hissed, pulling me to be face to face with him. I turned my head, looking out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a passing car; someone who'd see us. They didn't, and when he noticed I was looking away, he grabbed me by the chin, squishing my cheeks as he snapped my head to look at him. "**-Didn't do shit.**"

'Yes you did. Yes you **did**.'

"And don't you dare tell your mother, or I swear-!" John stopped himself, ready to threaten me with my life if it came to it. But, he wouldn't. He knew I wasn't going to say shit. I was too awkward with it. And, what if no one believed me? What if they all took his side? Who'd believe a thirty five year old newlywed was hitting on the bride's son? No one. Absolutely no one. John sighed, releasing me, letting my head fall back against the seat. "Just-. Don't. We don't want people getting the wrong idea." He looked to the road. "Okay?"

No. No, not 'okay.' Never again okay. That was wrong. This is wrong!

I didn't nod my head.

Didn't let out a meek 'yes sir.'

Didn't sit silently in the passenger's seat and let him drive me home.

No. I ripped open the car door, shielding myself against the brutal pound of freshly poured rain, and began my trudge back in a complete daze. It wasn't as bad though. I only had two more miles to go. By the time I got home, John was already there sitting at the dinner table, checking his phone. He didn't look up when I came in. He didn't say hello. It was as though I didn't exist.

Mom was a completely different story, tearing into me when she saw what a dripping mess I was. I'd gotten my muddy feet all over her new carpet, but I was too numb to care. She checked my face, tilting me one way then the other, checking if I had a fever, any scratches, if I needed a bath. And, when she was sure I was fine, she went right back to bitching. Her words floated in the space above my head, not really connecting. Eventually, she was done laying it on me, and let me through to my bedroom, where I lay for hours and hours, until midnight finally came.

One phone call.

I'd make one phone call.

If that didn't save me, I wasn't sure what to do. But I just couldn't live in this house anymore. He picked up on the first ring, brisk and familiar as ever.

"Daniel Pines speaking." It was almost too much, hearing his voice. Would he be ashamed of me if I told him? Jesus.

"H-hey dad. It's Dipper." I cleared my throat, sensing the tight strain of muscles closing up as I spoke. "How are you?"

"...Good?" I heard him switch hands, moving from left to right as he readjusted the phone. "Mason, are you alright? You sound horse." I cleared my throat again, no more successful than the last time, but trying to pull it off. I had to.

"Ye-ah. I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"I noticed. You do know what time it is, right?"

"Sure." I nodded.

"It's a school night."

"It is, yeah. I know." There was a pause on his end.

"What's going on over there?"

"I-. I wanted to talk."

"What did you need to tell me?"

"**Nothing**, I just-. Can't I call my dad without there being something on the line?"

"At 12 o'clock?" My dad joked. "Sure. Let me get a pot brewing."

"Okay." I said, hearing him shuffle around on the other end. I heard the unmistakable creak of a cabinet door, the clicking of a cap, and the tinking of a spoon against his favorite mug. He settled down after a moment, having made himself a strong cup.

"So, how's school going? Still all As?"

"I've got a B in Mr. Jackson's."

"That's not bad."

"It's not great."

"Is that what your mother thinks?"

"What else would she think?"

"That you're a genius." I smiled into the phone, hearing the honest tease in his voice. He really meant it, too. Dad always treated me too good.

"Yeah, well-. I'm not as smart as you think…" I was almost able to make it all the way through, only to slip up on the final word. It was too breathy. Too sad. It was like walking on a rug and the tip of your shoe caught close to the floor, and you ended up tripping over it.

"... Mason, are you alright? Where's your mother? Are you near any sharp objects? Remember the steps, Mason. Remember to breath-." Remember to breath, Dipper. Remember what the doctor told you. When I suffered from attacks after coming back, it was like returning from Vietnam. No one could stop the nightmares. No one could counter the panic. No one could understand. Not Mabel. Not my parents. For some reason, I was the only one who caught it, and it made for one hell of an experience. Like giving my anxiety Five Gum.

"I know, dad. I am. It's okay, really-."

"Have you been seeing Mr. Arbuckle?"

"I don't need to see him anymore, dad. It was just that one summer. I'm doing fine now."

"Are you sure-?"

"**Yes**! Shit, dad. I said I'm okay!" And, I knew I'd fucked up in that moment. Dad didn't say anything for a moment, only listening and waiting for my explanation. But, what could I say to that man?

"Are you okay?" That was it. I was a sobbing, bawling mess, shaking my head and curling in my lip to muffle it as best I could. I knew he could hear me, though. I knew he knew something was definitely, absolutely wrong.

"D-dad." I wept, rubbing my eye with the ball of my palm. If he couldn't help me, no one could. "Dad, I did something really, really stupid…"

"Mason, it's okay. Whatever it is that happened, it's alright. You're okay, Mason. You are." How wrong he was. How optimistically wrong. So wonderfully blind to his sick, demented son. I could hardly hold back my admiration for him, shaking my head as the tears poured endlessly. Please, please help me.

"Dad-. Dad, I need to-. I need-." How to phrase this right. How to make this okay. If he knew, would he still love me? God, I was a mess. "Can I co-me live with you?"

"What?" He switched hands again. "Like, in New York? With me? Really? Mason-. I-. I don't know. I've still gotta sort everything out with the realtors, and there was this big mix up with the moving company, not to mention the neighbors are noisy. Heck, the whole state's noisy. And, what about your mother? Have you talked to her about this? What does she think?"

"S-she do-esn't kn-know." Please please please get me out of this place, dad. Please.

"And what about school? You've got finals coming up soon, don't you? You can't miss those."

"D-ad I'll finish my fin-finals, I swear."

"Don't swear, Mason."

"Ok-ay." I sniffed, pinching the bridge of my nose. This had to work. I didn't know what else to do besides this. "But-... But, what about after finals? What about then?"

"When are finals over?"

"A week."

"And your grades?"

"A-all A's, one B." I heard a heavy sigh on his end, mulling over his options. Taking me away would spike some bad blood between him and mom, and she already wanted him out of her life. It wasn't something to be taken lightly. She was ferocious when she wanted to be.

"Geez… Mason-."

"Please, dad… I can't stay here anymore." I was trembling now, holding the phone between sweaty palms that refused to let up. Refused to let go. It was like appealing a death sentence. Because, I had no more control over this house hold. Everything I thought I knew: Gone. Vanished. A completely new world I lived in, and so much more confusing.

Why had I wanted that kiss?

"...I'll talk to your mother." And, that was the end of it.

A month later, I was strapping into the passenger's seat of dad's rental car, mom making one final attempt at persuading me.

"Dipper, sweety, you don't know what you're doing." She placed a hand against the window, caressing the glass with sad eyes. But, they were crocodile tears. She just couldn't let him win. She couldn't let dad have the last laugh. "You're not mature enough to make this kind of decision." Mabel hadn't come out to say her goodbyes. She was still mad at me for skipping out on her, and even more at herself for letting mom talk her out of coming along. She'd be mad for a while, until it finally subsided and she couldn't wait to see me again. But, that wouldn't be for a couple of weeks. And, in that period of time, I'd have more than enough silence to keep me company.

"If you do this, there's no turning back. What about all your friends at school? What about Mabel? Are you just gonna up and leave them behind?" Mom's voice was soft; sweet. She talked like she just wanted what was best for me, and the idea of me making a mistake absolutely broke her heart. But, what did she know? She didn't even know what was happening under her own roof. "Come back inside, Dipper. We can talk about this later."

"If I go back inside, we'll never talk about it ever." I spoke through the glass, refusing to meet her gaze. It wasn't meant to hurt her. It wasn't meant to break her heart. It was just the truth. If she got what she wanted, there was no reason to fulfill her side of the bargain. Because, she wasn't working to compromise. She was working to convince. The persistent tone of her voice was enough proof. Mom looked at me with hurt eyes. Another move below the belt, but I wasn't nearly as focused on her as before.

Instead, I stared at the man standing behind her, crossing his arms with an indifferent expression. As if to say, 'Go ahead. Run away. See if I care.' Because, at the heart of it all, he didn't. He never cared about me.

The flight was five hours.

I bolted out of bed, a headache springing up to greet me.

"Oh-. Shit."

My hand went to my head, rubbing circles at the endless throbbing just above my temple. It was only then that I realized where I was. My bed. In my apartment. But-. Hadn't I just been at the mansion, fighting a shapeshifter? Or, was that a dream? It felt too real, though. Far too real. And long. I remembered the search, the fight, and nothing else.

And, perhaps an actual dream while I was unconscious, but it was already slipping from my memory as I tried to recall it.


	20. The Window

My head was groggy; swamped as I rolled onto my side, working pitifully to bang my fist against the snooze button. Eyes shut, my hand roamed along the warn surface of my wooden nightstand, searching out the rhythmic chirp of my alarm. An empty cup. My reading glasses. The sixth installation of The Sibling Brothers. An orange pill bottle. A notepad with creased, torn pages. My cell phone. I finally felt along the plastic buttons of my clock, too far gone to remember which one turned it off and which one blasted the radio. Hand sliding, I lazily opted for knocking it to the floor and letting my alarm clock smack to the ground, going silent finally as it pulled out its own cord.

' No more drinking with Paz…'

I rolled over in my bed and fell off the side onto the floor with a 'thunk', crashing face-first into a beige rug, gasping as the wind was consequently knocked out of me. But, it was necessary. I wasn't getting up otherwise. Groaning uselessly, I laid on the ground for what I wished was forever, only to prop myself up on my elbows. Time to start the day.

The pounding in my skull was more than enough to remind me exactly why I hated drinking. Or, loved. It really depended. It could be amazingly fun at times, letting your inhibitions blow in the wind. Dance on the floor. Talk to strangers. Loosen up as much as a responsible adult could without losing their job. A seriously good idea before the inevitable crash: The upset stomach. The head ache. The putrid stench of spilled liquor on your shirt collar.

The nasty look your sibling gave you in the morning when she knew you'd been out drinking.

"...' Morning." Mabel squinted, addressing me like someone who'd done her wrong. I only grunted, staring blankly into my black cup as the caffeine worked to counteract last night's mistakes. "I said 'Good Morning.' " She tested, poking my cheek as she did so. I swatted her hand away, sighing before sliding a coffee mug her way.

" Hey." I lifted my cup as a cheer, not meeting her gaze as I guzzled half my cup in one go. She didn't seem too pleased as how efficient I was at it.

"What time did you get back at?" Mabel took her drink, dipping her pinky finger in before bringing the digit to her lips. A bitter slice met her tongue, causing a soft grimace to bloom along her features. She moved to the cabinet, fetching the sugar.

"Who's to say I even left ?"

" Paz ." Mabel shot. "She texted me to drive your intoxicated butt home at, like, two in the morning."

"No way I was drunk enough to let you behind the wheel." I snorted lightly, once again avoiding her gaze. I was sure she was glaring at me.

"Good, 'cause you walked home, in case you forgot."

"I did, actually." I shrugged. Tilting my head back, I finished my drink, finally looking her in the eye. "A ride would've been nice, though."

"Not waking up to you ringing the doorbell at four would've been nice, too." Mabel fired. She'd gotten good at this; arguing. About me. About how stupid I got when I was drunk. How irresponsible. Troublesome. Obnoxious. Absolutely ridiculous to deal with, and almost impossible to handle. She'd witnessed it only three of a million times, and was near killing me in each instance. Not that she'd ever understand the appeal. Mabel's tummy couldn't handle the hard brew of alcoholic beverages, and the smell alone warded her away. Not to mention the taste pretty much knocked her out cold. In retrospect, that was probably a god sent. What would become of a world that harbored a drunk Mabel?

"Okay, so you already knew what time I got home at? Great, thanks. Mystery solved." I put my hands on the counter, sliding from the isle's stool with a slight wince as I sensed a pain in my lower back. Whatever it was, it was probably bruised by now.

"Mystery not solved, Dipper." Mabel pinched the base of my shirt, keeping me captive for her bitching. "What's gotten into you, for real? Do you have to go drinking every night?"

"It's not every night. " I rolled my eyes at her dramatic exaggeration. This was the one thing Mabel felt she could take the high ground over me on, and she always loved milking it. And milk it, she did.

"Fine. Every week. It's not good for you, man." Her hand left my shirt finally, instead planting itself on her hip as she continued her rant.

"I'm not a baby, Mabel. I don't need you telling me when too much is too much."

"But, it is too much!" I shot her a look, and her tone instantly softened. "Come on, dude. Let's be honest here. You're not exactly… smart when you're like that. Who knows..? You might do something kind of-."

"Dumb?" I offered. Mabel flinched before nodding vigorously, fingers knitting together.

"Really, really dumb! Like, ruin-your-whole-life dumb. Lose-your-job dumb. Get-someone-pregnant dumb." I choked on my coffee, black drink shooting through my throat and almost exiting out my nose. Coughing once, twice, thrice, I wiped my lip before looking at her with the most repremending expression I could muster. Where did she get off suggesting something like that? As far as she knew, I hadn't even touched a woman, let alone been inside one. Mabel's theory was flawed in several departments, and yet I couldn't find the right words to counter her.

"What the-? What? Mabel, what? " I almost laughed, crossing my arms as I leaned against the kitchen counter. She couldn't be serious. "Where the hell did that come from?"

"Oh, don't play dumb, dude. You know where it came from." I just stood there, waiting for her to elaborate, but she thought me wiser than that. It took her a moment before realizing I was completely lost by her. Sighing, Mabel rubbed her temple, mumbling a low complaint just short of insulting.

" Dipper. " Mabel addressed. "You go out every week with the richest girl in Gravity Falls, order half a dozen drinks, and sometimes don't even come home. It's a little suspicious."

" Suspicious?" I scoffed. Mabel nodded her head nonetheless.

"Suspicious." She confirmed.

"Oh my god, Mabel. Are you kidding me? We've known Paz since we were little kids! She's like-. Like, family. Okay? I'd like to spend some quality time with my family. "

"Wendy's family, too."

"I hang with her almost every weekend." I retorted. "And, we're doing really well."

"I'm just saying-. " Mabel's sing-song tone trailed off, eyes shifting away as she made a suggestive look towards the door. "One too many drinks, Pacifica could start looking pretty good to you."

" Gross, Mabel."

"Don't say it like it's impossible. It's definitely possible. You are a guy after all."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I didn't say anything." Mabel waved the comment away like a puff of smoke. She turned from me, approaching the soft teal jacket slung forgotten over the kitchen chair. Keeping her eyes trained out the window, she worked passionately to slip her arms into either sleeve. "It's just-. Ya' know. Natural, right? Guys like girls, and-... Boobs and stuff." She shrugged her shoulders, turning to face me with a guarded look.

"So, what? I'm supposed to turn ape at every blond that shows her ankles?"

"It could happen."

" Could. Not will." I shot coldly. "And, even if it did, that's none of your business. It's not like I need you chaperoning us every time Paz and I decide on a few drinks." Bomber jacket slipped on, I guided Mabel to the door, making a show of holding it open for her with a snarky kind of boldness. ' Lady's first.'

"I'm just warning you. I'm not the only one who's noticed it."

"Who cares who's noticed? It's not like anything's actually happening."

" And? You think that's gonna stop anyone from talking?" We made our way down the apartment's hall, aiming for the long spiral steps going downwards. "People see a boy and a girl starting within thirty feet of each other in this town-." She cut herself off, slicing her thumb across her throat for emphasis. "It's all over."

"When did you start caring about that kind of thing? I thought you were all about gossip these days." My shoulders bounced as we made our way down, two steps at a time, hoping to keep our conversation light and without serious pointing. There wasn't much to be done about staying clear of major pitfalls, however.

"I'm all about it 'til you get involved. You think I wanna read up on how you nailed your childhood friend behind Wendy's back ?"

"I'm not going to! Christ, have a little faith in me, will you?" We were in the lobby now. A grey splotch of cement walling us in on all four sides. A wooden desk, empty of seated security man and stained with black circles where he'd lay his coffee mug. There was a plastic potted plant just left of the apartment's double doors, shining cheaply against rays of sunlight. Again, I held the door for her.

"Alright, alright. Fine. But, I'm telling you now: People are noticing."

"Not my problem."

"Not yet." Mabel corrected me. We made it to the car without breaking into a nasty fist fight.

"Again, Mabel: I'm not going to. Could you stop with it? For like, two seconds? I don't even look at other girls!" I put the key into the ignition, snapping it sideways. The car came to life with a burst of fumes, the vibrations riding within the engine, into the dash, and through my steering wheel. Our seatbelts were snapped on simultaneously, a kind of coincidence that nerved me endlessly.

"It's not about looking. It's just-... Maybe it's not the most appropriate thing, hanging with Pacifica right now."

"What do you mean, ' right now? '" I pulled out of the parking lot, a seeded land of broken concrete and freelance dandelions. Mabel seemed to trip over her own voice, uncharacteristically nervous all of a sudden.

" Nothing! I just-. You know. I'm looking out for your best interest. I want you and Wendy to be happy together."

"What does Wendy have to do with this? You've brought her up like eight times already." I kept my eyes on the road, pulling us onto the main street jerkily. Mabel leaned as I made my first turn, sucking in a heavy breath as she worked to keep her gaze from my eyes. Out the window. Humming. Hoping to sound unbiased and clean.

"Well, she is your girlfriend. She'd be hurt if you cheated on her."

"Which I won't."

"I know. I know. It's just-..." Mabel sighed, turning to face me. My eyes were snapped ahead, holding a steady stair void of any real focus. My senses were tuned to hear her, and only her. She sighed defeatedly. "Look, I'm gonna be frank with you... Wendy talked to me about the date." I almost had a heart attack, hands catching on the wheel, snapping the car to the right before correcting. There wasn't much more embarrassing than that. I thought we'd discussed keeping that night between the two of us. Maybe ' the two of us' was different for girls. Maybe ' the two of us' meant- you know- the two of us, plus anyone willing to listen. Had Wendy told anyone else? Had Mabel told anyone else? Oh, god.

I said nothing, hoping to let her words die without acknowledgement. Like a beetle caught under a cup, surely to die of hunger if left unattended to. But, Mabel fed him. Right in front of me, she fed him, and I wanted nothing more than to take the bug under my thumb and just crush it. That was impossible now.

"... When did she tell you?" We caught a red light, pulling up to the poorly painted white line like a racer preparing for a match. We were at a stand still, frozen in time within the confinement of our vehicle, watching on as everything outside continually sped along, grew, and eventually dissolved into nothing. Mabel shifted in her seat.

"A little while after the you-know-who incident." I groaned at her confirmation, hands sliding over my face as she kept piling on the details. "She was stressed, Dipper. It's not like she meant to say it, but… She had too much on her shoulders. Would you be able to hold something like that in after finding out about Bill?"

"I did hold it in." I sneered through my fingers. Mabel never gave me half the credit I deserved for doing that kind of thing.

"Well, you shouldn't have…" Mabel soothed meekly, giving me a pathetic look. I almost grimaced, noting the genuine pity behind her eyes. ' Don't give me that look,' I wanted to scream. I didn't. Instead, I forced my gaze up, watching the traffic light: Red. "Listen, the point is-. She's scared."

" Scared?" I scoffed. The regret was instantaneous. Unretractable by the way Mabel looked at me in response. Of course she was scared. We all were. But, was it still justifiable to argue that never in my life had I really seen Wendy scared? That it was so unlike her to be so? It became an obscure theory lost to my preconception of her, suggesting she be anything but brave. That only seemed to strip her of her humanity.

"Yeah, scared. As crazy as it sounds, she thinks you're losing interest in her." A slight grin passed her lips, as though the idea itself was a quirky joke. I kept quiet, staring ahead. "You really dorked up this time, bro-bro." Mabel nudged me with her elbow, a symbol of good humor on her part, but the blatant annoyance I felt kept her advances from hitting.

"Ah-ha-ha. Yeah, okay . Whatever." I waved her off, brows furrowing as my eyes continually darkened. She really was looking out for my best interest, but Jesus. Did she have to stick her nose into everything? I looked up at the traffic light again: Green.

"You should talk to her, Dipper… I don't want you two growing apart." Her hand reached for my shoulder, only to think better of it and simply lie at my arm rest. She gave it a tight squeeze in proxy, a silent plea to get my shit together and fix things. If only she knew how little there was to be done. Still, Mabel smiled, holding her gaze to the side of my cheek, waiting for some kind of confirmation. What could I do at this point? I sighed heavily, slowly giving in to her poor fantasy.

"I'll look into it." That seemed to quiet her. My foot inched down on the gas, intent on moving beyond this intersection placed under a green traffic light, wanting nothing more than to kill the conversation. Stay quiet. Keep the car quiet.

I caught a glimpse of spoiled blue just out of the corner of my eye, racing in front of the car. A tall, lanky figure making its way from the edge of the sidewalk to the middle of the street, lacking previous warning as they did so, confident and purposeful in their stride. Their path crossed with the car's. Without thinking, my foot slammed on the breaks, a stream of curses instinctively slipping my lips. My hands braced against the steering wheel, fists tightening as my body lurched forward against the interference, sucking in a breath as I looked ahead of me. I'd hit the breaks just in time.

A woman, mid to late thirties, stood pressed against the hood of my car, having just barely avoided a head on collision. Her arms were stretched out, catching herself on the hood, a look of absolute terror puncturing her features as she stared down at the vehicle's old paint job, silently processing her survival. She was pale in the moment. Thin; caked in purple eyeshadow. Decked out in some scankish two piece that hitched up around the waist and just barely covered anything underneath. Fishnet leggings and a hack job pixie cut, dyed an ugly shade of blue that only worked to mortify her features.

Shocked by the instantaneous collision, it hadn't even crossed my mind to get out and ask if she was alright. But, by the way she flipped me off, something told me she didn't want my concern.

" You fucking psycho! You almost killed me!" The mystery girl screamed through the glass, still draped over the hood of the car as she went. Her face was wiped of all paleness, now flush and streaked at the cheeks, bare aggression radiating from her features. Nostrils flared, teeth grinding, she kicked the car's left headlight with her open toed heel, only to let out a strangled hiss. She'd hurt her foot.

" Ow! Fuckin' hell! Fuck you, man! Fuck you!" The girl looked as though she'd advance on us. Rip the car door open and try crawling in to do lord knows what. She didn't, simply flipping us off again. She made her pathetic, now stumbling jog to the other end of the street, turning the corner and disappearing from our line of sight. But, not before I got a few words in. Rolling down my window, I made sure to lean out far enough to throw my voice.

"The light was green, you fucking moron!" I was sure to match her hand gesture with one of my own.

By the time I reached the GFPD, it was already packed. I squeezed my way through finely tailored suits, neatly kept hair buns, and the occasional pair of bodies, conversing endlessly at what seemed to be every doorway and bathroom entrance and stairway, ordering wordlessly to go around them. The hangover tapped at my temple as I stepped into the elevator; knocking the inside of my skull, squishing my brain, chewing on bits of bone marrow. My eyes squinted against the harsh yellow burn of thin, long bulbs placed overhead.

They'd blink, sputter, almost explode as they tinked tiny flies and ladybugs bumping along the surface, and repeat the cycle eternally. It was an irritating peeve that prodded the backs of either of my eyeballs, ripping into their veins and burning through layer upon layer of flesh, bumping my frontal lobe for entrance. I contemplated stopping by the gas station during my lunch hour and buying some darkly tinted shades. (A cheap pair couldn't cost more than eight dollars) But, the hangover would subside by then, and they weren't worth the trouble if Bill picked on me for wearing them. In the end, I only sighed, rolled my head back, sucked in a breath and managed the pain in silence.

The elevator doors split in two, exposing the laboratory as a screen of burnt tobacco quickly enveloped me. I no longer coughed at the stinging intrusion of smoke, nor did I wave my hand to ward off the stench. We'd worked with each other for four weeks now, and I'd learned the hard way that Bill was far worse than his simple habits. No. He was a massive asshole, and the sooner he died of lung cancer or tuberculosis or heart disease or a stroke, the better.

"'Morning, sapling!" Bill was as perky and annoying as ever, feet kicked up on the edge of a small metal waste bin turned on its face. He sat in the corner, seated casually in my red swivel chair, tampering with the flint roller of his lighter, watching the flame burn and die and burn again, all the while puffing out grey smog from the corner of his lips and nostrils. I cringed slightly, imagining the severe burn of skin and lungs.

" Morning ." I groaned, moving towards the window as I'd been doing for the last couple of days. With a practiced hand, I flicked at the pane's latch, hoisting it up and letting the clouds escape, as though from a burning building. "Didn't we talk about airing out the place when you planned on lighting one? You're getting soot all over the floor." I grumbled more to myself than to him, knowing good and well the complaint fell on deaf ears.

It was irritating as all hell, picking up test tubes, looking over files, sitting at my desk, and smelling nothing but the deeply set foot print of Bill's cancer sticks. The scent clung to everything. My chair. The tables. The walls. Me. Bill smirked, watching as I stretched to prop the high window in place.

"What's the fun in that? You'd have nothing to complain about." He purred, chuckling lowly at my scowling expression as I turned to address him. It was like a game now. The two of us. A game. Tag, perhaps. He tagged me- infected me- and I was forced to catch up and tag him back. But, I was just a second too slow, and Bill a gram too agile to catch. One day, though. I'd corner him, and he'd have nowhere else to go. For the time being, I was still chasing.

"Oh, I'm just brimming with complaints today. Don't test me." I moved to the next window, set in the middle of the lab's left wall, unlocking it and sliding it up.

" Aw , did someone nip off your precious little D? What's got you in such a piss poor mood?" Bill's cigarette was a solid grey at the tip, only to be elegantly slid from his lips, tilted over the edge of my arm rest, and tapped against the base of my chair, where the ashes flaked away like snow, leaving the stick's crimson edge bare.

"Right now? You."

"Love you too, dolly." Bill leaned forward in his chair, feet sliding from the upside down waste bin, pulling a bright grin. "You might consider a few therapy sessions at my place. We can crack down on why you're such a little monster." Bill joked. I slid over one, coming up on the final window. This one's pane was a bit chipped, and the latch had rusty from prior disuse. It only took a few wiggles before the latch came undone, my arms working to budge the stiff wood up along its sliders. I got a third of the way before it jammed in place.

"Something tells me I'm not the one who needs therapy." I quipped.

"Then, let's go together! Might be a nice occasion: Waiting rooms. Candy bowls. Old guys with clipboards. If that doesn't scream 'romance,' I'm not sure what does!"

"Matching straightjackets." My arms pushed up on the stubborn frame. It remained unmovable. I huffed once, let go of it, rubbed my palms over my dress pants to remove stray splinters, and went right back to pushing.

" Now you're gettin' it! Let's do it: Partners in crime, you and I!"

"Bill, we're cops. " I attempted pulling the frame down a little, in case it'd gotten caught on something that needed to be loosened, but the second I inched it down, it wouldn't so much as budge from its spot. I would've just left it if Bill weren't so obviously waiting to see if I could do it. "We're not supposed to do crime. "

"Ugh, don't remind me." He went on, rolling his head back as he soothed the back of his neck with his palm, as though the very thought caused him physical pain. I turned around just a little, still gripping the stuck window frame as my eyes fell over his exhausted features. For an instance, he looked much older than he was. Tired. A bit fatigued, considering he hardly worked around this place. Small, almost baby-like bags started bruising along his lower lids, a seemingly trivial match when compared to mine, but still there. It seemed out of character for Bill to have anything but unlimited energy. Though, not so much so to stay up late.

"Should I be worried?" Laughing softly, I turned to sit against the ledge of the broken window, hoping to stall my next attempt at loosening it. Maybe some oil. Butter, even. The thing was rusted in place. Bill's face broke out in a grin, sly and witty as his eyes slanted with a glint.

" Very worried." His words rang with a cynical reveal not unlike a criminal's. "I'm always up to no good."

"Perfect. I'll be taking you in, then." A smirk of my own began to tug at my lips, calm and calculating along my features.

"I'd like to see you try." Bill mused. He stood from my chair, brushing his hands attentively over his ash-covered slacks, watching the white flakes dance from his pant cuffs and thighs. He looked as he had the day we first met: Dapper. Dressed neat, straight, and upright like a crime boss on Sunday. Hair, slicked golden. Eye patch snapped on tight. Tall, broad and sturdy, looming over me almost menacingly. Threateningly. His suit was on right, bow tie strangling his thin neck like a noose; just the way he liked it.

"Really?" I scoffed with a tease, eyeing him over without even noticing. Yup. Still dapper. Still a piece of shit. Some things never change. "If you say it like that, I might do it."

"You don't say." He stalked me slowly, as though loitering, waiting for an opening to strike. Bill's hands were out and bare, thumbs hooking the loops of his belt buckles as he hummed thoughtfully. "In that case, how about Friday?"

Bill stood before me, hands moving from his belt loops to place themselves on either side of my head, not touching, but close. His arms were stretched out, bracing themselves as his eyes bore into my skull. I crossed my arms.

"What about Friday?" I questioned, shifting subconsciously under his gaze. He leaned in a bit closer, a cold wave of frost seeming to radiate from where his palms were, pressing themselves against the spaces just left and right of me. Hair shot up along my arms, straight like needles and just as sharp.

"You said you'd take me in. How about Friday ? Unless you're doing someone else." Okay, so I knew he was messing around now. No one could be that bold. At least, I didn't think so.

"I am: My girlfriend ." I played along, smiling smugly at his blatant teasing.

Bill had been doing it a bit more than usual: teasing. Ever since I blacked out that one time, he'd been nothing but jokes and poking and faking. Setting up times, dates; asking for my number, suggesting I come over. The whole thing was a big game to him, and he was severely obnoxious if I didn't play along. I suspected I'd get bored of it easily, but the constant banter was surprisingly interactive. Bill'd say something playful. I'd reflect it, and so the cycle went on.

And, for some weird reason, the game wasn't just bearable. It was fun. Very fun. Ever since the Shapeshifter incident, I found myself more at ease with him. Just a little, it wasn't as hard to manage his idiotic antics. Like some kind of unspoken tension had been relieved. A payment had been made, and it was just that much easier to handle him. Because, for once in my life, I didn't feel quite so frustrated around him…

"Drat, what a shame ! You don't know what you're missing~." Bill's sing song voice forced a defeated laugh from my throat, the first one I'd allowed in his presence. He seemed pleased by it.

"I'll take my chances." Bill chuckled at my remark, leaning in just a bit closer than last time. For some strange reason, I didn't mind the proximity. It didn't seem quite so alien. Comfortable, more like. The closeness was comfortable.

"You're hurting my feelings here." His tone dropped a bit, husky and playfully disappointed as he poked out his bottom lip to pout. "There's a heart in that chest of yours, isn't there?"

"Not since I last checked." Bill's smile only widened at my remark. There was a simultaneous switch in his stance, his arms now raising themselves above my head, the sound of wood sliding along rusted metal. I lifted my head in surprise as he raised the final window effortlessly, a soft click signalling his success.

"You're welcome." Bill taunted, willing a small frown over my lips. That was just demasculating.

"I'm not thankful." I huffed, turning away from him to look out the window. He didn't move from behind me, standing and waiting in the space behind me.

"Why? Did I make you look weak?" Bill joked.

"I could've done it myself." I trained my voice to seem indifferent, replying to his coy advance like a neglectful parent. In reality, he was slowly working his way back into the habit of getting on my nerves, and I quickly regained my will of eye rolling.

"Yeah?" Bill asked, leaning in on my back, chest pressing against my shoulder blades as he rested his chin on my shoulder. "I'm sure they're a lot of things you can't do without me."

I rolled my shoulder, nudging his face away from me, but he remained planted just behind, hands placed on either side of the windowsill, waiting for me to blow my top and make an ass of myself. Like a single drop of water tapping rhythmically across my forehead, suspended by a cave's one stalagmite, drizzling down on my head with no reserve or care of annoyance, Bill kept at it. Being close. Messing with me. But, I knew his tricks. I wasn't so vain to assume a lewd bastard like him was actually flirting with me. Rather, entertaining himself. He was all about the mind after all, and not many things came close to entertainment like making others question themselves. I would know. He told me himself.

The elevator doors slid open without warning, and to my absolute delight, Bill snapped away in genuine surprise. As he did, the back of his head banged against the base of the lifted window, making him hiss out in pain. I would have laughed if I weren't so busy standing up straight and acting like Bill hadn't had his crotch practically pressed against me. But, that didn't mean I was reserved enough to restrain myself from flashing him a taunting smile. When I looked him in the eye, he was already grinning.

I'd expected Blubs to come out as he always did: A wide smile, hands on his belly like a slightly slimmer Santa, asking how we were getting along, about the Bill Dilema. Like a busted meth addict, I would ramble nonsensically, arguing a lack of information, research, help, and funding, only for Bill to cut in with something reassuring. We're on the case, Chief!

That always seemed to work.

However, when the elevator doors opened, a slender body instantly strutter out, fueled by anger, determination, and the most pissed off expression anyone could manage. A woman, no more than 5'9, thin as a skeleton, dressed in a skimpy two piece and a poorly discolored hairdo, made her way to my desk. Trailing behind her was Chief Bulbs, looking frazzled as he tried to calm her.


	21. Kitty

"Miss Prim-! Miss Prim! You have to wait downstairs-!"

"Shut yer yaps! I almost died just walkin' here!" Her high heels clicked against the floor as she powered forward, ignoring Blubs' concern. "You got guys snoozin' all over the place, jerkin' themselves off to me down there, an' you want me to wait? Bullshit! I know your type! I'm not gonna have some sleeve put their hand up my dress before I've even filed a case , damnit!" Her blue hair shook as she whipped her head around to glare at him.

"B-but these two are very busy right now!" Bulbs confirmed. "They've got too much on their hands to help you at the moment! Please, let's talk about this down stairs. I've got a few detectives who'll be happy to-."

"Those guys are a bunch of third rates, and you know it! You said these guys are the best of the best, right? Why d' I gotta yap it up with those bozos, when I can just cut right to the chase?" The woman turned around fully now, making the chief shrivel up defenselessly as her glare burned him.

" Because , Miss Prim, we've got them assigned to one of the most sensitive cases in our files. Please, let's talk about this somewhere-." Bulbs made a move towards her, trying to use his wide hand and place it against her back to guide her towards the elevator. The second he made a move even suggesting he was going to touch her, she became defensive and harsh.

" **Don't touch me! **" Bulbs' face became pale at her bare aggression. "You men . Just- ugh! Listen to me for, like, two fuckin' seconds, aight?" She whipped around to face us. "You the guys that hate each other?"

" **Miss Prim!** " Chief Bulbs reprimanded her. She only put a hand up, raising a single finger towards him without meeting his gaze. And, from that small gesture, something began to click. I know her from somewhere…

"Heard you two are pretty good at solving cases an' shit. That true?"

"Um…" I began looking at Chief Bulbs for hints on what to do. Was I supposed to refuse her? She was being a difficult little ass, of course. It was probably most appropriate to order her away, and I knew damn well what a passofist the chief was. There was no way he had the balls to kick her out himself. I'd have to do it myself. But… In all honesty, the Bill Dilemma was going nowhere. We didn't have any new clues or hints on the case, and just sitting around, doing nothing was annoying as shit. Something in me nagged at my hungover brain, begging me to take the bait.

Come on, Pine tree. Just a taste.

I shoot my head, clearing my thoughts before addressing her.

"You could say that." The disappointed look on the chief's face was enough to doubt my decision, but I'd already tempted myself with it. I moved behind the desk, stretching my arm out to introduce myself. "I'm CSI agent Pines. This is my partner, Angle." Bill gave me a look, making me sigh heavily. "Call him Bill." The woman took my hand with a confident slap, shaking it heartily.

"Nice ta' meetcha. Prim. But, my stage name's Sunny ." She introduced herself with a newfound brightness, as though to taught the chief with how agreeable she'd become in that moment. Sniffing haughty, Bulbs put his hands on his hips, sprouting a grumpy look that was nothing short of comical.

" Stage Name? " Cocking a brow up, I slowly slid my hand from hers, letting Sunny move on to Bill's. The smirk she shot me was almost perverted. "Where do you work?

"You ever been down at Doe town? Ya' know, past that new burger joint that just opened up?" I made sure not to let on that I was completely shocked at what she'd just said. Hell yeah I knew what Doe town was. Pacifica and I had gone there once as a joke, right between barely buzzed and black out drunk. It was a red light district.

"Oh." I said simply, looking anywhere but her, my mild embarrassment flush against my cheeks. Sunny barked a harsh laugh, head tilting back before snapping forward to look at me.

"Damn right, ' oh!' I'm one helluva stripper back home."

" Whaaaaat? " Bill's mouth fell open with the dopiest, most ridiculous expression of admiration he'd ever given, looking both stunned and amazed. His grip tightened, now shaking her hand briskly, like he was meeting the president for the very first time. "Weird! That's so weird! " He said it like it was the highest form of praise achievable from the human race. By the way he refused to stop shaking Sunny's hand, it probably was.

"Alright, alright! You've had your laughs !" She pulled her hand away, unaware of how genuine Angle's praise was. "I didn't come here for chit chat, mack. I got a complaint to file, or whatever the hell you highends call it."

"We just call it bitching up here." Bill smirked, nudging me in the side with a grin. I didn't respond to his humor, eyes trained on Miss Prim agonizingly. God, I swear I've seen that girl somewhere.

"Well, then I'm here ta' bitch, 'kay?"

"'Kay. What's the scoop?" Bill asked. She sniffed, shooting the boss a look to leave for this part, whatever it was she was going to tell us. It looked as though he was going to say something, opening and closing his mouth as his brow furrowed endlessly. Finally, he lowered his head, grumbling as he made his slow journey towards the elevator door. Bulbs pressed the down button with a sulking finger, dark shades shielding the outright betrayal he felt in that moment of cooperation. There wasn't much to be done about it now that Bill and I were interested. The chief stepped in, giving one final look back in a plea of favoritism, but to no avail. Sunny waved him goodbye pleasantly; vigorously. The doors slid closed, and he was gone.

"I can't find my bitch." Sunny said finally, leaning up on my desk with a sigh.

"Your-... What?" I looked over at Bill to get some kind of confirmation from him, but he was too busy soaking up her wonderfully abnormal persona. Chances were, his well tailored ass didn't go around partying it up with junkies and shut ins and whores and pimps. Not that his personality wouldn't fit in. His newly polished dress shoes might have something to say about it, though.

"My bitch. You know… My hoe. My GF. My main woman."

"Is she… property? " Okay, so she's probably doped off her ass right now.

"My best friend, dumbass! Jesus, don't you guys use slang here?"

"We prefer using our words." I shot, eyes growing lidded at her tone. I definitely knew her from somewhere…

"Whatever." Sunny scoffed, combing a hand through her ratty, unwashed bob cut. She leaned up from the desk, popping her hip as she glared at me with a hostile gaze. For a moment, she looked as though she would say something, only to think better of it, looking away. Her eyes darter towards the window, an intense strain washing over her features before looking back at me. "I feel like I know you from somewhere…"

" Right ?!" I burst without thinking.

"You'd think I'd remember a twink like you, huh?" The worst part was hearing the seriousness behind her tone. She meant every word of it. "Eh, fuck it. I'll figure it out. Anyways, I'm here to hire you guys to find my girl. Kimbery; Stage name Kitty, got it? Tall, latino, likes long stockings and margaritas-."

"Wait, wait, wait. One at a time , lady." Bill chuckled. "Where's the last place you saw her?"

"Hell if I know, bear. She went everyone. You'd usually see her on Pet street- that was her corner, ya know?"

"Usually." Bill repeated. Sunny nodded.

"Yeah, usually. She got this really nice gig up on third, though. A real top shelf establishment called ' The Red Cross.' "

"What? As a blood donor?" Bill joked.

"Nah. It's one of them queer strip clubs. For the boys, right? They called Kitty up to be a bartender, 'cause the clientele got too handsy with the male servers, an' of course she said yes 'cause 'aint a damn girl out there dumb enough to turn down honest work when you live in a glorified whore house . I do' know… It's not crazy for a girl like her to want a real job with all them slobs droolin' over something without tits. Kinda refreshin', actually. But-. Somethin' seemed off with the place."

"What do you mean, ' off? '" I asked, leaning in on my desk.

"Well, shit. For one, the owner's a real creep." She said.

"Who's the owner?"

"Some fuck face in his thirties who thinks he's the shit. I don't wanna talk about 'em. Threw me out whenever I tried asking around for Kitty. Said he didn't know 'er."

"Sounds like something someone would say is he did know her." Bill offered, moving his hand to his pocket. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes, sliding a stick from the box before placing it on his lips.

"You got smokes? Mind bummin' me a roll? I've been jonzin' since this morning." Sunny held out her hand expectantly, waiting for him to relinquish the box to her. He obliged peacefully, happy to offer up his shitty habit to yet another sad addict, only for my hand to block her path.

"What the fuck is with you guys and smoking? Jesus, am I the only one who thinks it smells like ass?" Sunny only whistled at me, cracking a grin.

"Damn, agent Angle. You'd better get your twink under control before he flips his lid. He talks like a rogue… Are you an ex slut? Of course! That's where I know you from!" Sunny acclaimed confidently, eyes blown wide with realization as she clapped her hands together, mouth falling open as though solving the case. But, I knew damn well that was definitely not how we knew one another.

"What the fucking hell?! Who in the-?!" I was close to tearing into her, only for Sunny to cut me off.

"Wait-. Ugh, no . That's not right… Ah, shit. I'll figure it out, I swear." She put her finger on her chin, pondering her choices. "Well, damn. I just can't remember-."

"You know what? Let's just drop it for now, okay ?" My eyes were cold and burnt, my face slapped with the most fake, most uncomfortable grin I'd ever given.

No Dipper no fighting in the office keep it together be cool she's not worth losing your job over.

"Good idea, hon."

"So, what'd this Kitty chick look like?" Bill asked, cutting in. He lifted his hand, placing it firmly on my shoulder as a sort of comfort. As if to say, ' You'll get 'em next time, babe.' I shrugged him away.

"Caked in makeup. Real thick in the ass, if you catch my drift. Big boobs. She had some work done back in the day, so she's all plastic. Probably find 'er in a McRonald's kid's meal if you tried." Sunny snorted, shrugging her shoulders. "Likes to dress real scankish when she can. It shows off all that cash she coughed up for the surgery."

"Alright." I began, looking down at the notes I'd scribbled up for her description. "So, we're looking at…" Literally ninety percent of the red light district. "Um, so what about ' The Red Cross?' You said she worked there for a while?"

"If you call six days a while. What can I say? She left at nine; got back before the sun rose. It's closed during the day, so she's got all the time in the world to do whatever afterwards."

"And, the last time you saw her was at work?"

"Nah, last time I saw 'er, she was chattin' it up with the boss."

"Of The Red Cross?"

"Yeah. Might've been tryna sleep herself into a raise or some dumb shit like that. What a bimbo. E'rybody know's he's a nancy."

"A… Nancy?" I asked, stiffening at her mocking tone. Sunny only laughed.

"A nancy, yeah. You know, a friend of Dorothy? A real queen. A poof . A wonk . An Invert ." I remained confused as Bill nudged me with his elbow. He leaned over, just inches from my ear before speaking softly.

"He's gay, Dippy."

" Very. The guy's a James Charlies-."

"Okay, I get it! So, Kitty disappeared after that?"

"Mmm-hmm. Just- Poof! Vanished. No texts. No money. No nothin'. Her pimp's been goin' batshit about it, screamin' 'bout how she snuck off with his cash an' shit. Won't let nobody sleep 'til he finds 'er. Got a price on 'er head, too. Lotta doe's goin' into the search."

"Are you apart of the search?" I asked skeptically. This was getting closer and closer to human trafficing by the minute, and prostitution's already illegal.

"Oh, hell no! Look, I'm tight for cash, but not tight enough to do that cockshit's bidding. Kitty's a friend, 'ight? I just wanna make sure she's not dead or kidnapped or some shit. The dumb bitch hasn't taken me out for a drink in forever, it feels like I've completely sobered up by now."

"How long has she been missing?" Bill questioned, trying to sneak his lighter up to the base of his cigarette. Without looking his way, my hand met his lighter, lowering it away from the stick.

"About a week. I tried talking to the police about the whole thing, and they're sayin' a bunch o' whores go missin' at ' The Red Cross.' "

"And, what?" I asked.

"And what? I'll tell you what: They don't give a shit. The place 's flooded with gals like us. One babe goes missin', another doll face'll run away from home and shake her ass in their place. It's science."

"Well-. Well, it's really not. But, I get what you mean: The police aren't doing anything in Doe town, so you want us to go in and investigate." Sunny nods her head vigorously, eagre for us to start our search.

"When can you get started? You drive me, I can pointcha in the right direction 'n shit." She offered. I only raised my hand at her.

"Uh, no. That's okay. We can just look it up." Her face fell a little, though it retained its overall hardness. The look of hopeful fear was just barely cloaked by her rough exterior of determination, anger, and boldness. Sunny looked harsh, with dark glazed eyes and a set sneer she refused to let up, almost radiating a similar frequency as Wendy. Emplified, more aggressive, more horrible. Almost masculine. If I squinted my eyes at her, she might have even looked appealing.

"And the time? When can you get started?" I looked back, sucking in a breath at the clock that ticked behind us.

10:32 AM

"We can… During lunch. We'll get started at 12." I assured her, pulling that time out of my ass.

"The club doesn't open 'til 9 PM."

"Okay, uh-. That would've been nice to know in advance, but-. Sure. Nine. We'll start looking at nine, then." I shifted my stance, soles going numb as I stood heavily on the pads of my feet. Not that there was much to do outside of sitting in a slump of theories over Bill, who was probably flying off to Japan or Russia under the false allies of something dumb like Billy Triangle by now, but I really wanted her out of the lab. She flared up my headache like nothing else.

"What'll you be wearing?" Sunny asked cautiously, eyeing me over with something reserved. Unsure. Like maybe this wasn't a good idea after all.

"Is… There something wrong with wearing our uniforms?" I looked at the elevator door longingly, tired of this confusing interview. I just wanted to sleep off my hangover now. But, I couldn't do that without Bill getting up my ass about it.

"Not it you don't mind hundreds of cop-haters pouring their drinks all over you an' refusing to serve ya. Look, the cops in our part of town-." She paused, mulling over her word choice with a head roll. "Eh… They're shit. Now, don't get me wrong, I don't think all cops are shit. But, those cops. God damn. Shit bags. An' a lotta people don't got the right image of law enforcers now 'cause of 'em."

"Then, we'll go in as customers." I offered. Sunny just tutted her tongue.

"What'd I tell you before? The place is high end. They only let the top dogs in."

"What's a ' Top Dog' supposed to mean in a gay strip club?" I rolled my eyes, huffing heavily as I crossed my arms.

"Pimps and their pieces, 'course. It's more like a place o' business, if I'm bein' real. ' The Red Cross' is for tradin' in favors. Showin' off merchandise, if you know what I mean…" Sunny's voice trailed off, eyes trained on the space just below my chin as she spoke, where I'd unconsciously loosened my tie. It exposed a tiny bit of skin, revealing the shameful composition of a complete lack of hair, as well as smooth, milky white flesh. I brought my hand up, clasping the loose fabric in an attempt at cover.

"Merchandise…" I worded mindlessly, already knowing what she meant. Prostitutes .

"You got a problem with that? It's a career choice, dolly." She remarked. I only stood there, combing my brain for some kind of solution to this whole mess. To get in without being noticed, but still getting in good with everyone… Can't be a cop. Nobodies aren't allowed in. But, playing the part-. No, Dipper. Just-. No.

"Are there… Any job openings? "

"For an undercover cop? Sure. They lost a couple o' strippers last week. The pole's free to use if you've got an ass."

"Oh, he does. He definitely does." Bill nodded his head, laughing as I stomped on his toes hard enough to hurt my own heel. Sunny didn't seem to mind, even leaning over the desk to get a peek.

" Hey. No kiddin'-!" She whistled.

"Jesus Christ, people! I'm not whoring myself out for this!"

"Oh, don't be such a pussy ! Who knows? Pole dancing might be the life for you." Sunny teased.

"No!"

"Oh, come on-!"

" NOOO!" I crossed my arms over my chest, only to slash them outwards in a sign of finality. Nope. Never. Not happening. Mom had always worried about Mabel when it came to poles; I didn't want her worrying about me, too.

"Alright, okay. Fine. But, look here doxy: You either get on the pole, or find yourself a pimp, 'cause you're not getting in otherwise."

"Oh, yeah. Sure. Let me just get on real quick." I snarled. "Why don't you be the prostitute and-."

"Don't you dare finish that sentence. I've already got a job down at the ' Chicken Strips,' and if you think for one second I'm sellin' my soul to anyone else, you're crazy. Besides, it's a gay strip club. An' unless you're willin' to pay for a sex change, I'm off the menu." I was stunned, stammering mindlessly as her words sunk in. Hell no. Hell no. Hell no. Hell no. Hell no. No, no, no, no, no, no, no!

" B-but- !" I tried to fight it, putting my hands up as I defended my case. God, I was bored at work, but not that bored! There was no way-!

"Hey, listen: I-. I'm losin' a friend, man. Shit, I get it's a lot to ask, but I'll pay you, I swear. I've got a whole buncha cash stored up under my mattress for situations like this. An'-." Sunny paused, giving me a weighted look. Heavy eyes, sad, looking at me with a pathetic plea. "I usually don't say this, but please don't pull out. I need your help here." Once again, I stammered, hoping to find some kind of excuse, some kind of alternative for this case, but nothing came to mind.

"Uh-. Well…" I lifted my head to look at my partner who was snickering endlessly at my situation.

He knows damn well who the pimp's gonna be. Goddamn it. Fuck him.

Bill smiled, offering me the barest of winks before addressing Miss Prim.

"You wouldn't happen to own anything in his size, would you?"


	22. Welcome To Doe Town

For once, I drove. Not in his car of course. Pine tree worried about his plate being recognized among the locals, and that'd only cause trouble. We couldn't have our cover blown unless we wanted the shit beaten out of us. Not to mention he'd throw a fit if I touched his steering wheel. No, bad idea. Instead, we went along in ' my' car. Used in very loose terms, being it was actually a relic of the late Miss Lass.

It had been a hot mess back at the compound, still sludged in mud and mucus, damp on the seats and building up a heavy black mold on the roof. Nothing a little TLC couldn't fix. Because under the deep alge, the stained green wheels, the clogged motor, the browned windows; there was a perfectly preserved 1969 series Lincoln Continental, with a black hood, sleeked door handles, and an engine that purred like a ring-tailed lemur.

You just had to pull up your sleeves to see it.

"Fucking christ…" The little twink squirmed in his chair, seat belt chafing his neck, belly, and all skin directly pressed against it. And, there was a lot. Holy shit, was there something to look at! Talk about dumb luck for that Sunny girl to actually having something in his size! And, not just anything: Latex. Snapped across his body like a second layer of skin, exposing him as much as humanly possible. Pine tree frowned in the passenger's seat, trying to work out how he could position his legs without looking absolutely whorish. But, wasn't that the point?

His shirt hardly passed as an article of clothing, covering his pectorals and neck, leaving his arms and pretty tummy bare for others to gawk at. He wore a tight pair of latex shorts that just barely cupped him, if at all. If he so much as bent over wrong, they'd probably pop off against the strain. That only added to the appeal, though. Pine tree wore a classy pair of three-inch latex heels that gleamed against the road's overbearing street lights, flickering as he bounced his knee up and down with impatience. The only protection he had against the thug-covered streets just beyond a quarter-inch of glass seemed to be the long stockings Pine tree begrudgingly accepted as a substitute for jeans. He tugged up at them, cheeks going pale then red as it dawned on him how exposed he felt.

"This is ridiculous." Pine tree snarled, flexing a heavy sneer out the window. I only laughed, blowing a puff of smoke from my thick Cuban cigar, my pristine fur coat's zebra collar cuddling the length of my neck as I tossed him a look. I recalled fondly Pine tree's burst of laughter when I walked out in such rambunctious material, even as Sunny assured me all pimps wore them. Oh, how his laughter died when he laid eyes on what he'd be wearing! I could hardly contain myself! "I can't believe we accepted this case." He crossed his arms grumpily.

"We?" I snorted. Taking a left, the street lamps were abruptly replaced with store lights, glowing a deep crimson. Low staircases were placed out front, leading down towards black painted doors into secret rooms of pleasure and women. Pine tree grew ridgid. "No one was twisting your arm about it, cutie."

"It sure as hell felt like it." He snapped back, shooting me a look. I caught it effortlessly, holding the expression in my mind as long as I could. I sighed, giving him a pitiable smirk as we pulled onto the designated street: Tease Ave. Already, the women were lined up outside, pressing themselves seductively along walls and street lamps, placing a leg out a little too far when they strutted cooly, as though not seeing the men that watched them, but longing still to be approached by one.

"One heck of a neighborhood." I whistled, snapping my fingers at Pine tree as he grimaced tastelessly. "Take notes, baby boy. You've gotta really sell this one."

"I know. Fuck you, ass hole." He growled, nose wrinkling, fists balling up against the sock garters stripped along his supple thighs. Humiliated. Pine tree was absolutely humiliated. "I don't need you teaching me how to whore myself out."

There, in the distance, was a darkly painted building spaced out from all other establishments. It glowed crimson just as the others, but with an odd kind of pop to it. With LED lights stretching along the rooftop, down the sides, and across the paved sidewalk like a prestigious entryway, it both enticed and shunned the lower classes. A bright sign, slashed artistically with a red 'X' that's end was just a bit too long. More like a lowercase 'T'. A cross. The Red Cross.

"Hey, I'm just giving you a few pointers. There's a lotta reference to draw from!" As though to emphasize my point, the car mosied past a strip of girls in slim dress, motioning for us. Beckoning us with their long acrylic nails. Blowing kissy faces, winking, cat calling, swaying their hips for the chance at a quicky. "Exhibit A." I gestured a hand towards them. Pine tree noticed them, saw their attire, and instantly shielding himself in shame. He held his hand at the side of his face like a wall, trying not to make eye contact with any of the local hookers.

"Oh, God… Just drive , will you?" His face grew red with embarrassment, unused to seeing such loose, experienced women out and about. A bit too modest for this lifestyle, having been a local resident of middle class California. Not pampered, obviously. But, maybe a little shy here. Not the naturally slutty type. Not the sensual twin. It wouldn't be easy selling this virgin off as a high tiered sex toy in a town crawling with expertly trained thots. I had my work cut out for me, that was for sure.

"What? Bashful much?" I teased. Pine tree didn't reply, only bunching up as one of the girls tapped her acrylic nail against the glass. She was tan, short; a little on the fat side, but still curved well enough to pull in a customer. Or two.

"Ey, sweetie. You lost?" The hoe rasped, lungs ripped to shreds from years of tobacco abuse and endless blowjobs. She sounded more like a toad than a lady. Pine tree remained still, eyes moving to me, begging me to press on the gas and get him out of this place. I smirked back, and his features instantly paled.

"Bill, **don't **-. " With the press of a button, the window on his end went down with a slow slide. Now the girl could lean forward comfortably, elbows propped on the car's pane as she showcased her lovely cleavage to him.

"Hiya, dolly." She winked, smiling with yellowed gap teeth. " What's a precious lil baby doin' drivin' down this parta town? You lookin' for a good time?" The woman cooed coyly. Pine tree just shook his head, still covering his face with his hand to preserve the single string of decency he had left. If that was even possible at this point.

"Uh-. No, we're just-." He began, voice muffled against his palm. I tried not to laugh as his features burned, a pretty little blush rising from his cheeks, down his neck, and through his shoulders, all the while he fidgeted self consciously in his tight two piece.

"Actually- ." I began, leaning over Pine tree's lap to greet her. Placing a tactical hand along his milky thigh, I curressed him in such a manner it was near impossible to go unnoticed. He jumped but remained in place, fearful of making eye contact with the forward woman. While his skin rose in temperature to scorch my palm, the prostitute seemed all the sudden shy. A little embarrassed.

`Oh , so they're **Nancys **…'

"You wouldn't happen to know where The Red Cross is, would you?" I smirked at her, still squeezing Pine tree's thigh as he grew stiff. It was a stupid question; just down the street in all its glory was the building's church-like design, windowless and pitch black as it smoldered hot red against the night sky. I was only testing the waters now, seeing what roles we'd play in the club. How would Pine tree react to a couple of thugs trying to get friendly at the bar, or on the dance floor? Would he curl up like this? Act shy? Well, we couldn't have that!

He had to bite back.

"Sure, baby. Couple o' rows down 'at way, you see a big red 't'. 'At's the place." She responded graciously, still ashamed for attempting to pick up a few 'queens'. Not that it mattered. It only confirmed my suspicions: We'd be getting a lot of attention tonight. With how Pine tree had prettied himself up and my naturally compelling features, it was to be expected. We were a handsome team.

"Thanks, chick." I waved, showing gratitude through my sharp grin. She lifted her hand as well, now standing from her bent position against the car. Her arms crossed as she shot a glance down the road with a look of discomfort. Possibly concern. I was certain she knew about the missing people reports. Maybe even lost a few friends on the inside. But, who cares? It's not like she was making any effort to stop us. It was as Sunny said: The place was absolutely flooded with strippers and sluts. One went missing, another took their place. Simple as that.

"You two be careful in there. Some real friskers, I heard ." The woman warned cautiously, noticing Pine tree's skimpy attire. It didn't take a rocket scientist to guess what he had dressed up for. He didn't move from his spot, still covering the side of his face shamefully.

"Thanks again. Hey ." I snapped at him, drawing his mortified expression my way. He began to scowl, mentally cursing me for putting him in such an awkward situation. I scowled back. "What do you say to the nice lady?" I challenged, tossing my head her way. Pine tree didn't move, gritting his teeth at me for addressing his open dodging of eye contact. He said nothing, growing more stiff at my words. But, that was a poor choice. We weren't surviving this if he couldn't so much as look at these guys.

Reaching up, I snatched his hand from his face, forcing it down hastily. Again, he didn't speak. Only looked my way in shocked, wordlessly screaming at me and my disregard of personal space. I could feel him twist his wrist in my grip, biting his lip as he worked to come undone without letting on how strong my fingers were around him. Within moments Pine tree was still again, going red in the face at his abrupt subjugation, as well as the prostitute able to view his features in all their fullness.

"What do you say?" I repeated. The question was a command, and he knew perfectly well what I was doing here: Establishing roles. Superior pimp. Loyal bottom bitch. This wouldn't work without submission, something that killed him inside. Could he willingly subject himself to this kind of treatment? Probably not. But, hell if he wasn't about to break his back for it.

An icy glare, perfectly set against the glint of his dark, pooling brown eyes. A low hiss, quiet enough for my ears, and mine alone. Pine tree seemed to twitch around the corner of his lips as though fighting back the urge to chomp down on my throat. Perhaps he was pushing back. Willing an alternative ending to this. ' No, **you. **' His eyes screamed. Denying himself. Denying his own pride. It was out of the question. He couldn't lower himself to such humiliating leagues that he'd actually obey me, right? He'd drink poison if I told him not to.

This wasn't the laboratory, though. This wasn't the GFPD. We were a couple of clean white canvases readily painted for the approval and acceptance of Doe Town. If he'd only obey. Lowering his eyes finally, Pine tree made a slow turn to address her. A nice lady, no doubt if you ever got to know her. Of course, no one ever did. Or would. It was customary for a woman of her background to meet a man once, fall back, and move onto the next. Something Pine tree'd never been introduced to. Something he had to pretend to understand.

His gaze met hers with modesty, and for a moment I sensed a wave of compassion from the prostitute. Perhaps it was the outright stink of innocence he so openly released, or the unconfident eyes, but she was close to exposing us right away. She locked eyes with Pine tree, grew shocked-! Only to calm herself silently. No. A boy so pretty; so young! He'd obviously been taken in more times than he could count. Who could resist? It was a gimmick, of course. The innocence. To replay the very day he'd lost his dreamy eyes, his soft heart, his gentle touch. It was bait. Damn good bait. No one could restrain their primal instinct to destroy. To take. To break and claim without worry of returning him to his glowing self. Because, this had to be an act. He'd lost his innocence long ago. Yes, of course. So genius.

"Um…" Pine tree began, awkward as he fidgeted in his seat.

'So cute… A guy like that must practice damn near midnight to perfect his persona.' The prostitute grew impressed.

"Th-thank you for the advice. I'll make sure to keep it in mind." He bunched up his thin shoulders, eyes shifting from her as his face grew red again.

'Amazing! He can blush on command!"

"No prob, sweet cheeks. You just keep an eye out, 'aight? Their hands 're sneaky, if ya know what I mean ." Her croaking voice was almost soothing now, looking at him with a newfound pity alien to a demon such as myself. She stepped back on her tall heels, patting away the bit of car wax she'd smudged against her hot pink dress. With a raised hand, she waved us goodbye, though we were gone by the time her hand was in mid air.

"What the fuck, Bill?! That was so embarrassing!" Pine tree cupped his face, hiding the built up shame that filled him, spilled over, and outright drenched him now. It was hard enough walking around in his ' uniform' without being forced to communicate.

"You should thank me. Get a little practice in before the real fun starts!" I leaned over, left hand holding the wheel, pinching just a centimeter below where his ass was. He yelped, and I couldn't hold back my snickering. "Don't go acting all sweet now, bunny. What happened to that feisty personality of yours?"

"It died after the latex booty shorts." Pine tree deadpanned, slapping my hand away. I only snorted, complying with his discomfort out of pure indifference. "I've got no idea how I'm gonna show my face around these people."

"With confidence! Stand tall! Strutt! Show them what you've got, right? Just don't let on you've still got your V card . You might as well wear a sign saying ' Rape me.' " I quipped. He growled at me.

"That's not funny, dude. That's shitty." His features were sour, but I couldn't care less. I was too busy scoping out a parking spot. "I'd like to see you wear this stupid shit and get a comment like that ."

"You wanna see me wear it? Really? Well, I'm flattered baby-!"

"Of course you'd say something like that. Jesus. You know, the least you could do is prep me for this." Pine tree crossed his arms, scowling out the window as I laughed at him.

"Prep you? Kid, I'm just as blind as you are! You think I'd go whoring in a place like this?" He snapped his face my way, hands going up as his eyebrows furrowed brutishly.

"Well, you're the one calling yourself ' experimental!' What am I supposed to do in there even? I've never done this before, and it's freaking me out!" I couldn't help but laugh again at his pathetic outburst. Awww. The precious little pine tree wasn't ready to get chopped down…

"Hey, hey! Relax, short cake. I won't let 'em eat you alive." The comment would've been pointless if it hadn't absolutely thrown him into a frenzy of snarls and hisses.

"Don't you tell me to relax! You're not the one whoring yourself out for them." He raised an accusing finger at me, forcing my head back as he bared his pearly whites. I found a nice parking spot out front, letting the engine die as he found his voice. "If I have to deal with this bullshit, I at least don't want to deal with your bullshit."

"Now… Is that any way to talk to your daddy?" I cooed, bracing myself for his fiery response. Pine tree said nothing though, only sporting a look of absolute horror as he realized just what he'd gotten himself into. I snapped the key, and the car's vibrations died away, leaving the two of us silent for once. He took a deep breath, looking into my one eye.

"Bill." He went. "This… Seriously, just- . Just don't embarrass me in there. Please? Like-." He stopped himself, groaning as my lips pulled up in a generous grin. Well, since he was begging-.

Oh, who am I kidding? I was about to make his life a living nightmare!

"We'd better get in there." I smiled devilishly, stepping out of the car. Moving to his end, I opened his door, offering a hand as he slid his beautiful legs out of the car. Pine tree refused the gesture instantly, glowering darkly as he slapped my hand away.

"I'm not a girl. " He sneered.

"I'm a gentleman, sapling. Nothing personal, it's just business." Pine tree's hands slid to the back of his shorts, pulling them down on the cuffs to help cover him up. They hardly budged, and there was so little fabric, if he pulled down too far, he'd be exposed yet again. With the way his ass was looking, the latex was just barely large enough to suit him, cupping him where his cheeks ended, allowing for a showcase of his inner thighs pressing together. His hands worked momentarily to tug at the sides, then the front, only to sigh and simply accept his fate.

"Let's just get this over with."


	23. Sharks In Malibu

Dipper and Bill entered the club through black double doors held open on one end by a massive goon in darkly tinted shades. He was bald, broad shouldered, and glossed of all expressive mannerisms, as though his skull held nothing but a smooth egg inside. The guard's lips drooped in a perpetual scowl, even as he stepped aside to let the two pass. They'd approached the scene awkwardly; Bill strolling with a confident gait, chest puffed, grin bare, trailing his helpless partner along by the waist, who tried with all his might to look indifferent to the touch.

Dipper succeeded in many aspects, being a well-versed participant of two-faced body language, though failing in others. His legs were stiff the whole way over, knees locked in place as Bill ushered him along graciously, as though guiding him to bed. If Dipper had been any more uncomfortable, he would have not only stiffened up, but shut down, rolled over, and possibly died of anxiety.

But the guard let them through, his wide hand pressing a silver push bar as his beefy forearm stretched to the very edge of the metal door. It was like a drawbridge being lowered over a mote; an unconquerable obstacle, stocked with alligators and snapping piranhas, littered with torn bodies clinging to rocks, the edge of the wall, clumps of dirt and mud. The ones before them, cast below in an attempt to cross without verified access. Trying to sneak in. Attempting bribery. Threats.

But, no such methods worked. Only the honest way. Only by approval of wide, stern features could you enter the castle beyond the pitfall of snarling gators. And the man, having worked many years as a bouncer for such 'prestigious' establishments, knew perfectly well the two were more than acceptable clientels of the Red Cross.

The club was dimly lit, illuminated by the faint tint of crimson from strung up lights and tacky bar sign. It was spacious, leaving plenty of room for the glamorous platform set to the far right, planted with high, glittering poles. And, swinging along them with the grace of greased angels, were the petite figures of glossed up males.

They dressed in sequined fabrics, tight silks and loose cotton, twinkling or plain, all dazzling against the flattering flicker of rosie lights and the occasional lighter. It was no wonder they drew up a small crowd, strutting around their designated pole like precious peacocks, rolling their shoulders, heads tilting back, as though dancing for the pure enjoyment of it, and not the endless press for an encore each time.

Each boy shone with a loveliness about them, like delicate bits of china glass smoothed and painted with a precise eye. They were put on display. Flaunted. Cooed at, with thin fingers sliding along the edges of the stage, hoping to slide their cigar-tinged nails against the base of a stripper's high heel. A lump grew in Dipper's throat, imagining the stage as a desert island, barren of all fruits and being. Only a single coconut tree, sprouting out of spite and rath, accompanied the stranded beauties.

And, circling slowly, north and south and east and west of them, lurking beyond the shore, were bone-crunching sharks. For a moment, Dipper had fooled himself, and he believed sharks could grow legs. Crawl on land and consume the boys. For, as the deserted boys clung to their poles, swinging and twirling sensually, the sharks seemed to flinch, bob their slick pointed heads out of the waves, and move in just a little more. Out of water. Onto sand. Getting their flimsy fins to pattel uselessly against the grainy island's floor, trying to sink jagged teeth into untouched flesh.

Mostly, the boys only laughed, grinned, and nudged them back into the water. But, there were still battle scars. In Dipper's mind, he made out the faint trace of thick white lines of torn skin, plated clunkily around their wastes and wrists and necks. Like chunks had been taken out of them. Like something had been stolen each time, and a small bit of themselves were lost. To Dipper alone, the missing flesh was vivid, and the subtle ring of dark whispers could be heard. In the back of his mind, coupled with the putrid stench of citrus and aftershave, came a cooing voice.

' Shark Bites.' It went. And as Dipper looked down at his visible thighs, shaking softly from the chill of the club, he made out a small indent. A white line that road up his leg to his inner thigh, scarring soft, untouched flesh. Dipper blinked once, and the scar disappeared. It no longer existed, nor had it ever. And yet, a subtle pain throbbed where he looked, as he slid a hidden digit down to prod at the porcelain meat. He could almost imagine that large hand that once covered his entire knee; hear the rain fall; the vibrations of the car drying up and disbursing; the smell of citrus.

"You wanna get up there, sapling?" Bill elbowed Dipper's side, snapping him from his thoughts. When he looked up, Cipher was nudging his head towards the strippers with a smug smirk, offering the tease as an honest suggestion. "You'd put these amateurs to shame, I'm sure." He winked.

To his own surprise, Dipper grew bashful. He shrank, unable to collect the bravado necessary for a response. Shaking his head mindlessly, he held himself on either sides, bracing his shoulders with the kind of shyness not unlike a small child's. But, that was perfect. To Bill at least, it was more than enough. This place was a feeding spot of grown beasts, just waiting for some succulent snack to wonder onto their hunting grounds. And, in his opinion, Dipper made these other kiddos look like appetizers. Maybe a slice of meat here and there; delectable, yet far from satisfying. But here, standing awkwardly- vulnerably- was a four course meal. All needed now was an appetite.

"You ready?" Bill asked, placing an arm around Dipper's shoulders. He forced his partner's hands to his sides, the wide space separating Dipper's stomach and elbows happily amplifying his cute hips. It was like setting up a bear trap.

"Am I supposed to be?" Dipper asked, willing a slight scoff from his tight throat.

"Aw, don't be nervous . You'll do great!" He pulled his partner a little closer, justling his shoulder chumily. "Or get an STD. Either way, good luck!" Bill pat Dipper's back, forcing a groan from the other.

"Fuck you."

"Oh, no, no, no. Fuck you. " Bill clicked his tongue, lip hitching up to showcase his sharp canines. He finger-gunned at his partner, tapping his chest happily with the sure-fire optimism of a sleevey cars salesmen.

' Oh yeah, it runs! Great mileage, too! Trust me: There's no way this thing could go wrong!'

Dipper's stomach pinched up.

"Oh, god." He whimpered softly as Bill replaced his arm around Dipper's slim waist, tugging him through the crowd of infatuated males. His mouth grew dry, vaguely aware of the few side glances he received from those Bill pulled him past, with eyes sharp; cold. Slanted and shifting quickly, like the ears of a lion flickering up as it notes the harsh struggle of a wounded fawn. He begged his mind to settle down; to ignore the attention. Those hands weren't reaching for him. They weren't grabbing his legs or hair or rear. No, they were too busy watching the boys onstage. Not him. They didn't see him. He could still hide.

Dipper's shoulder bumped harshly into the edge of someone's elbow, forcing the drink they held to splash a few drops on the floor. With a quick hiss of surprise, the owner stepped away from the small puddle, lifting his drink cautiously above his head this time, wary of another arm bumping him even more. The man looked down at the insignificant mess, a quiet stream of curses flowing from his lips reflexively. A few men in the crowd had turned to look at the slight slip, but all shrugged their shoulders afterwards, simply turning around to enjoy the midnight display.

" Oh- uh-. " Dipper began awkwardly, now squeezing himself against Bill's side. He stepped back from the tiny mess in shame, keeping his eyes trained on it to prevent unintentional eye contact, all the while his fingers went to pick at each others nails.

"That wasn't very nice of you, sapling." Bill spoke with a voice of honest disappointment, though playful enough to ward away genuine concern. He was just teasing. "What do you say to the poor man?" The smile that passed his lips said it all. He was getting more than a little kick out of his new-found position as ' master.' And Dipper, frazzled as could be, didn't have the stamina or will power to snap at him. In fact, he felt mildly at ease knowing Bill'd at least been around when it happened. Otherwise, he may have gone on stammering idiotically.

"S-sorry. I didn't see you." His eyes finally lifted, and when they did, he came face to face with a pair of shaded dark eyes. Not quite as intense as Bill's, but still smokey in their own league, while somehow willing a kind of humanity within. He was tall, tan and sollum with features of mild irritation when he looked up from his spilled drink. His hair looked to be a choppy dye of purple, molded confidently in a shocked crew cut with tips that curls downwards. It would've looked silly if it weren't for the gold necklace slung around his neck. A small sign of wealth the man was willing to flaunt, even in a room dark enough to get lost in. His rough, annoyed expression lightened as he laid eyes on Dipper.

" Hey . No problem, sweet heart." The crooked smile he cracked was enough to spark a shiver up Dipper's spine. But, oddly enough, the shiver wasn't too unpleasant. He paused for a moment, eyes snapping up and down Dipper's figure so quickly, it seemed impossible to process anything from it. He did, however. And, letting out a soft hum, turned to the one hugging Dipper's side. "This one yours?" The man instantly addressed Bill, as though Dipper couldn't answer for himself. Like a child too young to respond, the mother his only source of information. A dog-owner. Dipper's partner grew proud.

"Real cutie, huh?" Bill stated matter-of-factly. The man's grin widened. He chuckled.

"You two new here or something? Don't think I've ever seen your faces before." He wiped his palm against his pant leg, smudging the potent stink of Pilsner along rough denim. Without looking from Dipper, he took a sip of his half-spilt beer, getting a good look into those soft doe eyes of his. Dipper couldn't so much as maintain eye contact.

"Eh, we blew in from Colorado. Heard this place is a good spot to do business." Bill mused, shrugging his shoulders, though aware of the interest he'd enticed from the man. Of course, business could mean anything. Perhaps drugs. Hiring a hitman wasn't a long shot, either. But… Looking Bill's arm piece up and down for the millionth time, he prayed for a different sort of business.

"Well, you've come to the right place then." He swirled his drink around, eyes trailing the vibrant wave of red light reflecting off the surface. "Can't imagine a bigger jackpot of cash-flingers than here in Doe Town." His smile snapped back on as he looked up again. "Names Bullet." His hand shot past Dipper, offering the gesture to his more-than-pleased partner, though Bullet's eyes were once again shifting towards him.

"Nice to meet ya, Bullet. Bill ." He took Bullet's hand hartilly, shaking it with a fond familiarity. A practiced gesture. The small sting from their slapping palms was enough to make him long for something more. Something greater. Something powerful.

How he missed his old self.

"So, what sort of business are you in exactly?" Bullet asked casually. Bill only smiled, giving Dipper an empowered look before speaking. His hand went from around his waist to the hollow of Dipper's back, motioning his stiff, uncomfortable body forward. He cleared his throat with a show of untainted pride, gesturing towards his partner.

"I don't believe you two have formally met. This is my baby, Dipper." Bullet's face brightened. His suspicions were confirmed as he now freely and openly viewed the smaller. Those eyes didn't quite snap anymore, but instead swept over Dipper slowly; softly. There wasn't any way of taking it all in, though.

"Oh?" Bullet asked innocently, as though he hadn't hoped for such an offer. "And, how old is he?" He took another swig of his drink, smirking endlessly at Dipper's reddening face. Was it his first time on the streets? Was he a new recruit?

"Twenty-two. Just old enough to graduate college. Not that this one could get into college!" Dipper's face snapped towards him, brows furrowing harshly at Bill's blunt slash at his ego. Cipher didn't care, only bumping his hip against the edge of Dipper's cooley. The barest hints of oxytocin spurted from the base of Dipper's collar bone, though blocked in several forms due to annoyance and embarrassment.

"Hmm. So, fresh out of the box, huh?" Again, Bullet didn't so much as address Dipper. It was like talking over the features of a used car, or admiring someone else's property with the intent of bartering for it. Dipper hated it. "What's his body count?"

"Who's to say he has one?" Bullet whistled at Bill's seemingly taboo response, curling his long fingers to make a fist planted against his hip.

"That's a bold statement, mate. How can I be so sure about that?" Bill laughed his way, only pulling his partner closer. Dipper made sure to place an arm between them this time, preserving only the barest of dignity as he scowled wordlessly at the ground. It wasn't his place to speak here. This was all going as planned, right? He was the bait. Bill, the interrogator. Dipper wouldn't actually be loaned out to anyone. Only enticed. And, once they'd hedged their bets on a culprate, he'd be deployed, get the final confession, and cuff him. End of story.

As long as Dipper controlled his shaking.

"Hey, man! Believe me or not, It's not my problem if you miss out on his first time." Dipper silently ground his heel into the tip of Bill's dress shoe, training his face to seem indifferent to the statement. Inside, he was bursting into flames. Bullet didn't seem to notice, only flinching when Bill snapped his head back with an abrupt burst of laughter. Bullet suspected him of some kind of drug use, as was common in these parts of town. But, he was probably a nut job off the stuff, too. That wasn't too uncommon either, though. He broke into a smile.

"So, you wanted to talk ' business' ?" He offered, gesturing to one of the lounges located at the far back of the club. The darkest part of the room with rounded maroon booths lit only by dull ceiling lights, each one sectioned off by long red curtains. Some remained open, showcasing groups of thugs and pieces puffing out smoke and drinks, all the while they gripped at each other playfully. Laughs, giggles and chuckles filled their small paradise, as though nothing could or would cross into it unexpectedly. Other curtains were shut, leaving the nudest of mysteries to be solved as Dipper picked up on the faint creaking of furniture; a rhythmic slap of skin against skin, the tearing of fabrics, the lowest of cries. Dipper made sure to steer them far away from such booths.

Bill sat down smoothly with a thump, Bullet mimicking such actions with an added sigh of satisfaction, loving the rest it gave his aching feet. Dipper, on the other hand, felt fairly awkward as Bill settled him on his lap. Not that the other two gave a damn.

"So, how long's he been in the business for? A year? Two? He know any tricks yet?" Bullet was quick to pound them with questions, professional in his interrogation after years of piled on whoring in separate towns. Not that he was a pro, but he sure knew how to check out a product before putting his money on it.

"Didn't I tell you? Still new to the game, friend!" Bill rolled his palms over either of Dipper's shoulders, massaging them less comfortably, and more possessively. As though daring him to say something; to butt in; to run away from it all. Dipper stayed still, biting his lip whenever Bill's knee shifted below him. "You'll have to teach him yourself."

" Really ? No bullshit? He's all fresh 'n shit?" Bullet's eyes road over Dipper in disbelief, and for a moment Bill's statement seemed like a poke at his intelligence. Like hell this kid was a virgin! At the very least, he'd given a handjob. Still, looking into those doe eyes of his, he couldn't help noticing the way Dipper averted his gaze.

" Scout's honor !" Bill cheered, sitting up as he put his hand over his heart. As he did, Dipper could feel Bill's crotch rub up against his outer layer of latex, proud and bold with praise. He stiffened, sensing his free hand slowly sliding up the base of his leg, almost casually. It started at his knee, up his thigh, to the edge of his hip, and rested happily on his rear. Not squeezing, but definitely looking for an opening to. "He's a real charmer, I'm telling you."

Dipper felt more than exposed with how he'd begrudgingly dressed himself, dry air hitting his lower back and shoulders vengefully. The way Bill so blatantly grabbed him certainly didn't help his mounting embarrassment. Again: all part of the plan. Entice them. Make Dipper a luxury of want. Need. And, it that enclosed giving examples of possible use, there was nothing stopping Bill from playing off of it. Once more, like trying to sell a car. Maybe not driving the vehicle, but popping open the hood. Showing off all the parts. Rubbing a finger or two over the dust-free windows.

'Look how low the mileage is on this thing! And no scratches! How could you possibly say no?'

Still, Dipper felt lightyears from ever coming to terms with any of this.

"And, what are his limits?"

"Is he supposed to have limits?" Bill's hand finally managed a light squeeze, forcing Dipper to flinch anxiously. The two hadn't so much as acknowledged him at this point, and it was almost surreal how invisible he felt. Of course, Bill was the perfect sale's man. Charismatic. Persistent. Convincing. It was no wonder the obligation had been placed in his hands to sell him off. That didn't mean Dipper wasn't sour about it.

"See? There you go again, gettin' my hopes up… This almost sounds too good to be true."

'That's because it is.'

"Trust me: It's true. What can I say? Can't have limits for something you've never experienced! The kid's got moxy, Bullet. Real ballsy with new experiences." Another squeeze, as though his comment wagered a reward. Dipper flinched again, this time clenching his cheeks involuntarily, his body braced for another attack. It never came. The hand just sat there, pleased to have something soft and round in its palm.

"Been tested?" Bullet asked.

"Just last week. Real shy about it, too." Bill responded.

Bullet hummed in contemplation, almost pleasantly. Cipher was seriously tickling Bullet's ' innocent ' kink. But, could he be trusted? Dipper hadn't said much so far. He wasn't a bad mouth like most of the veterans swamping this place, so perhaps he was a little wet behind the ears. Not too bold. A tad shy. Obedient, from the way his pimp hoisted him up and outright touched him. Not uncommon among these types of scenes, but the kid was bashful about it. Someone with far less modesty would be responsive to such advances.

A moan. Maybe a few soft groans. Even going so far as to grind against their lap wasn't unseemly, it felt. But, Dipper was silent. Awkward, and red all over, biting his lip and looking anywhere but the hand placed on his ass, and definitely from Bullet's sharp gaze. Could someone's acting be so good ? From past foreplay experience, he knew too well how corny ' innocence' looked on a sexual scale. They'd play it up too much. Seem far too dumb, and far too bold to be anything but slutty and brainless. Because, to them, innocence was an alien concept, unreachable and impossible in their current life. Bullet grew pleased.

"Where do I sign?" He grinned, leaning forward to place a casual hand against Dipper's thigh. He'd been eyeing it for a while, and it seemed only fair he got to feel up what he was about to break in two. However, his hand was stopped as Bill snagged him by the wrist hastily. A look into his single eye was enough to chill him.

" Ah . Not so fast, mister. We've got conditions first." Bullet's hand slid away grumpily, his mood going from ten to zero all too quickly with a pout. He leaned back into the cushion, arms crossed as he looked towards the bar grouchily.

" Conditions? The hell does that mean?" Bullet snarled.

"Don't get your panties in a twist, hot rod. It's just a formality." Bill assured him, flapping his hands palm down with a lidded eye. "We're just gonna need a small background check-."

" Background check? What is this? An interrogation?" Bullet scoffed. He missed the thick lump Dipper swallowed in his throat. "I came here for a quicky, fella."

"And, a quicky you'll receive! But, I can't have you cuttin' up this pretty face just yet!" Bill emphasize his point by gripping Dipper by the chin, hoisting his face up to make eye contact with Bullet. He shifted awkwardly under the intensity, but that only added to the appeal. "You're not a serial killer, are you?"

"What? No! How could you-?"

"And how do we know that?" Bill shot back. Bullet stammered hotly, cheeks puffing up as he protested. "You got any previous employers that can vouch for you?"

"I-... You serious right now?" Bullet's features softened defeatedly, almost like it was impossible at this point to argue it. He was drunk. He was high. And, he was definitely horny. Maybe a short little convo with Mr. Eye Patch was worth it. Maybe not. Either way, Bullet's sensibility was already out the window before he could put everything into perspective.

"About the only time I am." Bill chuckled back. Bullet paused, swirled his drink once more, and sighed.

"It okay if we get a little privacy, then?" He seemed sheepish all of a sudden, eyes dull but aware of the plus one listening in on them. Though he hadn't so much as interrupted them, Dipper was still looked at expectantly. Too many ears leaning in on Bullet's little 'background check,' he supposed. Bill did, as well.

"Oh, right! Right !" He began, hand coming to life as he smoothed the soft meat of Dipper's underside. "Baby, how's about you wait for me at the bar? Grab yourself something small, okay?" It was a simple thing, Bill reaching into the front of his jacket, pulling out a crist twenty as he waved it in front of the smaller's eyes. Dipper said nothing, making no movement to grab the cash, nor to lift himself and leave. Instead, he scowled darkly, and for a moment he could almost allow himself to snap back at him. They were partners afterall, right? Why shouldn't he stay to listen?

But, Dipper knew the answer. Looking to the green paper slid between Bill's index and middle, he snatched it up in hopes of giving the other a paper cut. No such luck. Defeated, he stood from Bill's lap, pulling at the back ends of his shorts before making his way for the bar. It goes without saying that his short walk from the lounge to the dangerously high stools was filled with side glances, soft whispers from one buddy to another, and even a small pinch on the ass. Shit. Was it too radical to say he absolutely hated men?

Yes. Yes, it was.

By the time he'd situated himself, the bartender was already there to take his order. A tall, brawny redhead with a chin twice the size of his forehead, stood alone, rubbing his white wash cloth against the edge of a wine glass.

"What can I getcha, sis?" Dipper didn't care about the nickname at this point. He'd been far too humiliated already. He sighed, pressing his fingers along the arch of his nose.

"Just get me a bottle of something. I don't care, man."

"You got it, toots." The bartender turned around, grabbing swiftly at the first thing his fingers brushed against: A tall bottle of Malibu. He set the bottle down, as well as a fairly portioned glass on either side of Dipper's folded hands. "Bon Appetit." He joked, moving from him. In any other situation, Dipper absolutely hated drinking alone. He wasn't exactly a party animal,but Jesus. Being the guy who drank alone was definitely not on his to-do list. Still, he needed to get out of his own head. Maybe a shot before would have helped, but that was out of the window now.

Dipper made quick work of the bottle's top, cracking the seal before snapping it off completely. With measured hands, he balanced the neck along his cup's smooth edge, tilting the large container up as the drink guzzled into his glass. It almost overflowed, the way he was spacing out every few ounces. The club reeked of marijuana, and he grew skittish of being unintentionally hotboxed. He was a cop after all.

Malibu was probably the worst drink on God's green earth. Besides Pilsner, seriously: It tasted like high fructose ass. As a highschooler, the substance wasn't so bad. On the contrary, it used to be the only thing he wasn't pussy enough to down. Mixed with a little pineapple juice, some watermelon, a little cherry; the thing made for a nice cocktail. But, as the story goes, highschool-Dipper had no idea when he'd had enough, or when he was drunk or sober, or if the floor was shifting beneath his feet.

Because of Malibu. Because it tasted like candy. Because it was so sweet, it was almost dangerous how easy it was to gulp. Because, after a few swigs, your ass pretty much blasted off. And he had. Hard. Woke up on the lawn with a raging headache and the worst possible up-chuck session. Last night's drinks came racing out, and it was the most repulsive thing he'd ever tasted.

He couldn't eat right for days.

Still, here he was, pouring himself a glass. The drink went down easily enough, his throat sucking down the imported rum like a humble practice of his. He hadn't even gotten a quarter of the way before feeling an ice-cold palm grab at his wrist.

"Woah there, tiger. You had enough yet?" Came a playful tone, not unlike Bill's, but perhaps an octave or two lower. Dipper didn't look from his drink, shifting his body with open hostility away from the stranger. The man only laughed. "You plan on finishing that bottle by yourself, tough guy?"

" Yes, I do." His eyes were trained on the dancers now, mildly fascinated by their suggestive movements. They really were beautiful…

"Mind if I have a sip? Something tells me you're about to buy out their rum supply." The mystery man's low voice was smooth as he let out a chuckle, grabbing the neck of the bottle to examine how much had already been gulped down. Not too much, considering what was left in Dipper's cup, but still a little fast for someone of his size.

"Don't touch my drink." Dipper didn't so much as look at him, eyes lidded as he stared ahead, taking yet another sip of his clear beverage. To his surprise, the man obeyed, putting it back where it belonged.

"Pardon." He said simply, a hint of sincerity in the lilt of his tone. This forced Dipper to snap him a look, though he cursed himself for allowing it. The man that sat before him was pale in every form; white, almost albino flesh with hollowed cheeks and a strong chin. Night black hair, greased and combed back so sternly, it was almost cartoonish. His eyes bore a blackness about them, like splats of pen ink dripping along the outline of newly laid snow. He wore a crimson red suit, stripped with the thin lining of needle and thread with golden strings. A slim figure, gangly and thin, though oddly broad and brawny under a certain light. "I suppose I can just buy my own drink." Dipper frowned at him, looking him up and down for any sign of insincerity. But, the man's features were light. Comfortable. Seemingly honest. Dipper took a moment, rolling his nimble finger over the tip of his glass before sighing heavily.

"Uh, bartender." He lifted himself slightly, hand raised towards him with a single finger. "Can I get an extra glass, please?"

The bartender, in all his masculine glory, looked mildly stunned for some reason. Looking from Dipper to the pale man, he gave a questioning expression. He grabbed the cup though, bringing the requested dishware to the counter. And, with a look of indifference, Dipper slid the glass his way. What else could he do? He hated drinking alone.

"Thanks." The man said simply.

"Whatever." Dipper shrugged, uncaring as he was met with the halfway mark of his drink. He didn't feel anything yet, but he was wary of it. Dipper wasn't a fool. He knew it'd hit his system eventually. "Nice suit." His voice was almost mocking, preserved only by the blatant honesty he held himself with.

"You think so? I thought it was a bit much." The man pulled at the corners of his jacket, examining the interior of silk with uncertainty. Dipper couldn't help but snort.

"No, you're good. I know a guy who pretty much sleeps in a tux." He tilted his head back, downing another quarter of his glass. He could pick out the soft swirl of the room now. "I swear. That guy ever dies in his sleep, just pack him up. He's ready to go."

"Hmm." The man said simply, taking his cup. He poured himself a small drink, far less than what was in Dipper's cup, but still enough for a light buzz. "You got something against guys in suits?"

" Yup ." Dipper said, popping the 'p '. He was almost at the bottle of his glass. "The guy I'm working with is a serious ass."

"Really? What kind of work do you do?" Dipper almost rolled his eyes at the question. Like this guy couldn't tell.

"I'm a jewish missionary." He slurred coldly.

"Jewish?"

"Or catholic, I guess. Depends on what you need saving from." Dipper shrugged his shoulders once more, slouching as he finished his first glass. His arm moved reflexively to grab the bottle once more, unscrew it, and pour it out in his glass.

"Is being gay enough?" The man joked. Dipper said nothing, having spaced out as he watched the graceful dancers lift their thin legs and circle the poles effortlessly. His head turned back soon after, having just barely processed his question.

"What do you think I'm here for? I've come to detoxify your people." Dipper lifted his drink slightly, using his free finger to point woozily; gesturing to the man's being, then the whole of the club before setting his beverage back down.

"Seems to me you're having the opposite effect." He laughed softly, hands going to smooth over the bar's counter. His nails were long at the tips, rounding softly as a white line topped his flushed pink fingers. "Ever consider converting?"

"Sorry. Can't. I'm all about spreading the word." Dipper twisted his whole body to face the man. He placed his right hand against his forehead, then to the center of his chest; tapped his right shoulder, then his left, displaying himself with a sign of the cross before turning back to grab his drink. " L'chaim ." He raised his glass in a lack-luster cheer before taking a long sip, eyes open and lidded with the beautiful apathy of a china doll. The mystery man only laughed, propping his chin up, grinning softly.

"So it seems..." He drew out slowly, looking to the bartender with an oddly demanding look. They made eye contact, the pale male lifting an eyebrow expectantly before the employee moved to the other end, out of ear shot. "Really, though. What's your work? Drugs? Trafficking? You dip your hands in the murder business before?" Dipper leaned forward, a large man having cut off his view of the dancers, trying to peek around his large shoulders. No such luck. Turning to eye the man loosely, he brought his drink to his lips once more.

"What does it look like I do?" Dipper answered his question with a question of his own. Fuck it. He'd let the guy make up his own mind. It wasn't up to him to be upfront, and if the guy jumped to conclusions, that was his fault.

"Like you work the corner." He responded boldly.

" Ding-ding-ding-ding-ding !" The bumping music used for the dancers switched from its consistently fast-paced jams. A slower, more sensual kind of song picked up tempo. "How'd you guess? What gave it away?"

"The latex." He joked, gesturing towards the tight shorts clasped around Dipper's lower regions. "Hard believing you'd do missionary work wearing something of the same material as a condom."

"You'd be surprised what I wear." Dipper looked down at his second drink; already gone. Time for a third round. But, reaching for the bottle, he caught sight of the man's half-full cup. He'd hardly sipped on it. A small wave of shame passed over him as he took a moment to analyze the mounting swirl of his mind. A little more. Just a little more, and he'd be made of light.

"Was that a tease? " He cooed, leaning in. His elbow slid smoothly against the table's surface as he quickly grew comfortable. "We just met, though. I don't even know your name , little one." His voice was hurt, but those eyes… They were bright as headlights. Thirsty. Literally thirsty. Like he might shrivel up and die of dehydration. It was all a chase, wasn't it? From when he sat down and asked to share a drink, it was planned. Most likely practiced, in fact. A kind of calling card, the way he acted towards prostituted and sugar babies all uncharacteristically polite. Because, who wouldn't fall for such a gentleman?

As it was, Dipper wasn't in the least bit hurt by his simultaneous revolation. Oddly enough, he was almost moved . Not that he was dolled up like Barbie or anything, but it hadn't been easy keeping these guys' hands off of him all night. On the contrary, it'd been near impossible. A few drifting hands. Dancing fingers on the edge of his seat cushion. Acrylic nails shifting along the tips of his hair, admiring the way they bounced when Dipper snapped his head around at them. It was like a constant stream of palms and knuckles, nudging and groping him from every angle, with the subtle motions of one hoping to feel without being felt. It nerved him endlessly.

And the man hadn't seemed any more honorable. Those hands could've done anything. Pressed a thumb against his right cheek. Dragged his ring finger along Dipper's porcelain tummy. Outright drugged his drink. Oh, yes. He kept a close eye on his glass the entire time. But, the man sat tall. Straight, with kind features. An honest smile. Clean, white teeth with pointed canines and almost non-existent spacing. Truth be told, he hadn't so much as shifted to touch Dipper. No. His hands stayed against the table, or on his chin, or sitting pleasantly against the counter, fingers folded with grace. Not touching Dipper, but hoping for an entrance. It was admirable.

"Do you need to know my name?" Dipper asked.

"It'd be nice. I might use it later."

He seemed like a respectable man. At least within the confinements of such a dank establishment. Dipper tried to imagine a human like him outside of this part of town; this building; instead, in the stuffy atmosphere of a small cubical, placed on the sixth floor of some high-performance corporation that planted one tree for every two they cut down. But, his mind was mottled by the third drink hitting his lips. It was simply thought that, in the mists of this chaotic world, he'd fit in about as well as any reasonable being. Which wasn't a poor grade for a man he'd met in a strip club, but still not the finest.

"And, what would you use it for?"

"Depends on how the night goes."

Dipper was hesitant to introduce himself. It was a given not to announce his full name, but even 'Dipper' sounded a bit exposing when up against someone with such blunt mannerisms. Maybe a name was giving him too much. Maybe it was dangerous.

"Sounds like you've got your evening planned out." Dipper smirked. "What if I say ' no' ?"

"I can at least tell people who it was that blue-balled me."

Who knew what this guy was like? He could be all around Gravity Falls, hearing about the GFPD's CSI agent ' Dipper Pines' all day. And how many people in the world were named ' Dipper?' To his own knowledge: One. There weren't many ways to come back from that. There was only one outcome to that: A few stumbles, some stammering as Dipper broke out in a sweat, racking his mind for explanations as to why he was named after a cop, and why it wasn't suspicious, only to be lynched on one of the strip poles. No. It was in poor taste. He needed an alias. A small cover-up for this case.

Something soft whispered to him from the back of his mind. A low growl at first. A flicker of a blue flame; a sharp turn. It moaned greavingly, almost in a cry of being forgotten. The smallest of phrases bouncing in the basement of his mind, rattling crassly with short shifts in tone. First low, soft, quiet. Then, louder it went. Just barely slipping beyond a red line Dipper'd drawn up long ago, forcing all specified memories behind it. It tiptoed ahead to the front of his brain, and before he could second-guess himself, the name slipped out.

"Pine tree." Dipper answered awkwardly. Uneven. A lifting feeling in his chest quickly assured him he was fond of the title. Though annoyed, he couldn't go back on it. And, oddly enough, there grew a warmth from the name. Something pet-like. Familiar. Nostalgic. He'd hated the name before, and in a sense still did. But, wasn't it a charming name? "You can call me pine tree." Dipper repeated, voice trained to reimburse him for previous doubt. The man smiled.

"Pine tree?" He tested the name, only to nod. "Nice to meet you, pine tree. I'm Mr. Fang." He held out his long, white hand in an act of companionship, waiting for Dipper to grab on. He did, flinching slightly as Mr. Fang's cold grip. Like ice.

" 'Mr'? " Dipper mused. "What's an honorific supposed to mean in this part of town?" He giggled cutely, having finished his third drink without so much as a pause. A sweet hiccup passing his lips was enough to deprive his statement of any hanis mockery, though Fang didn't seem offended either way. It was silly to Dipper, the idea of someone using professional titles like ' Mr' and ' Mrs' in the same area as a drug cartel. It was out of place; the suit; the smile; the 'Mr', currently scoping out a hooker. Almost backwards as Mr. Fang crossed one leg over the other, smoothing his hair back with clean, clipped nails. He smiled funnily at Dipper, like he'd said something wonderfully amusing.

"What else? It means I own a gay strip club."


	24. Meeting Mr Fang

I sat at the lounge once more, listening vaguely to our next ' client' paint himself as the best man to ever walk God's green earth. He'd come prepared with a long speech this time; obviously practiced time and time again in the mirror, hoping to finally convince me of loaning pine tree out to him. This was the ninth night in a row poor Mr. Andy Hash had come on his hands and knees, resume clutched between tight fists, trying to convince me further how clean his background was. All he really did was convince me he wasn't the man we were looking for.

My ears blocked out his blabbing as I lit another cigar. Pine tree sat up at the bar, his favorite spot to interrogate. It was a short distance away, only blocked by a few unfortunately placed tables that obscured my vision. Nevertheless, his features were perfectly visible to me. I leaned back in my cushioned seat, swirling golden scotch around my cup before taking a small swig. Mr. Andy Hash was still at it, sweating desperately as he clutched the crumpled loose leaf paper he read from. I'd snorted at his preparedness before, his blatant desperation comical in all its fullness. But now, eye snapping from pine tree to Mr. Andy Hash, I couldn't help the mounting annoyance I felt towards him. To think , this man thought he would get anything from my puppet.

It was insulting.

I made an obvious motion of ignoring him, my head turned to watch pine tree. Mr. Andy Hash didn't notice; only scratched his head when he lost his place under the flashing lights of the club. There pine tree sat, back arched, elbows propped as he cradled his chin in interlaced fingers, sprouting a coy smile when he spoke. It'd shocked me when I first found him nights ago, giggling cutely before downing his umteenth glass of wine. Even more when I realized how many customers he'd scrounged up, circling and enclosing him like a caged bird.

The ditsier he got, the greater his allure. At least to these dopes. They liked the idea of an airhead, I suppose. A silly, pretty little thing they could capture, tame, and pass on to the next buyer. It must have been amazingly arousing to the hull of this place when they watched him, almost innocently, take neatly scribbled phone numbers between his cute little fingers. Or, when he crossed his legs. Tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. Laughed. Shifted his eyes. Shuddered. Drank. Breathed, or blinked.

It was all very irritating to watch.

He'd grown a mysterious reputation almost overnight. For a prostitute to require a background check of all things was completely new to these men, and even more for him to proclaim purity. It was a bonus to be sure, but also suspicious. Unlikely. Some groups refused to approach him, in fear of pine tree's underlying motives. Really: Who'd ever heard of a virgin prostitute? Nonetheless, he drew in countless customers. We had basic filing for almost fifty regulars now, even as rumors circulated, and the numbers kept going up.

Pine tree made a show of smiling, slapping the stranger's hand from his shoulder, and shutting his eyes as a margarita slipped past his lips. And, sitting by his side as he always did, laughing and patting the back of some poor fellow unable to cup a feel, was Mr. Fang . The glass in my hand began to shake. He was a suave man. Upright, modest, graceful under the flashing lights, and totally stealing my look . Not to mention my puppet.

He was always around pine tree. From the first day we entered, he'd trailed him like a baby ducking. Sometimes upfront. Sometimes lurking. Each time eyeing him closely with the starved hunger of a dying mutt. I couldn't have been more annoyed with him. Both of them! Mr. Fang was an obstacle every night, stealing pine tree from suspects and possible sources, all to chat it up and pour him a glass. And my puppet, swearing he only hoped to gain his trust for information, followed along freely. Mr. Fang was our main suspect, after all.

But, It wasn't like him to look so charmed. So pleased to be drawn away from work. If it'd been me pulling him aside to slack off, he would've slit my throat. But then again, that may have been a testament to our growing friendship! After all, I knew perfectly well how confusing his feelings towards me were. His feelings towards Mr. Fang seemed crystal clear, though.

I'd never bring it to light, of course. I already knew his reaction; the continual denial and outright rejection of his subconscious desires disgusted me at times. Again, Mr. Fang smiled, gesturing his hand playfully before telling him some horrible joke. Pine tree laughed. Shyly. Quietly, trying not to let on how bad it had been. Still, his eyes shined when he looked back at the pale man, and he forced a broad grin from ear to ear in appreciation. Oh, now that pissed me off.

" -my mother says I'm very reliable. " I caught the tail end of Mr. Andy Hash's ' reputable ' speech. He was combing his hand through his hair, eyes flicking from the base of his paper to the bud of my cigar. And, by the way he stiffened, sat up, slanted his shoulders, slouching afterwards, I could tell he knew I'd stopped listening. He paused, looking over poorly done handwriting before folding the paper up. His head lolled solemnly, only to rise with the pout of a beaten dog, meeting my gaze under the furrowed wrinkle of his brow.

"How was it?" Mr. Andy Hash asked. He shoved the speech away, already ashamed of yet another failed attempt.

"Could use some work." I let out a puff of smoke, watching Mr. Fang lean in and swirl his finger along the edge of pine tree's drink. I could feel myself tick.

"Was it the joke at the beginning? Should I cut it out next time?" Mr. Andy Hash leaned in, hands guarded on either knee as he grew obnoxiously determined. I dabbed my cigar's edge on the couch; a pointless stab at the strip club's integrity.

" Look buddy." I sighed heavily, rubbing a hand over my face. "The speech is fine. It's the person it's attached to that's the problem." I peeked through my fingers to cast the ' happy couple' a glance. He was a bit closer to Mr. Fang, almost cuddling up as he watched the fingers that ran around his drink freely. Pine tree's eyes lifted, meeting the pale man's stare. And, just as they did, Mr. Fang took the opportunity to tuck his fingers, snatch a pill placed at the edge of his own shirt sleeve, and slip it in pine tree's drink where it fizzed up and dissipated. I sighed.

Here we go again.

"Wh-what do ya mean? I think I'm a pretty decent guy. I wouldn't-." I sat up, sliding my coat on before smudging my cigar out on the couch. I rolled my eye at Mr. Andy Hash before tossing him a pity-smoke. He caught it awkwardly, looking down then back at me with puppy dog eyes.

"Work on your charisma next time." He lifted a hand as though to retort me, but I'd already won.

I stood, making my way to the bar, squeezing awkwardly between drunken runaways and heavily placed bears. By the time my stride carried me beyond the dance floor, pine tree had the drink against his lips, ready to sip down. I felt a grin creeping up.

His eyes barely slid towards me before I slapped the drink out of his hands, his fruity cocktail soaking hairless legs. The look on his face would've been enough to have me doubled over in blissed out laughter if it weren't for the pale freak staring me down. I opted for a proper smile.

" Bill! " Pine tree gaped at the mess I'd made on his thighs before snapping up to glare at me. "What the fuck is your deal?!" Mr. Fang was quick to whip out a handkerchief from his breast pocket. Such a gentleman ! I would've swooned if I didn't plan on boiling him alive. He took the initiative, dabbing the fabric against pine tree's lap. Over his knees. His legs. Sliding it hastily along his hips and just shy of hitting anything important.

Pine tree didn't notice, only building in ferocity as he racked his brain for an explanation. I could tell the only reasoning he'd manifested involved me being a massive douche bag. But, I'm a man of class . No sense in trying to explain myself, even if it'd make me look like a knight in shining armor; saving the defenseless prince about to get roofied for the eighth time tonight. He had a sharp eye to be sure, and caught every hand that inched towards his glass with lightning speed. His guard was down with this guy, though.

He wouldn't suspect it of a gentleman . What a joke.

" Woops !" I laughed, playfully dusting him of stray drops splashed on his shoulder. He slapped my hand away. "Sorry, baby. Forgot you're not allergic to martinis. My bad ." I made sure to showcase a wonderfully painful smile as he growled, took the handkerchief from his lap, and tossed it at my face.

I caught it easily, his drunken throws almost endearing when he looked at me like a serial killer. "Hope I didn't interrupt anything." My hand holding Mr. Fang's handkerchief flew out, wringing the silk cloth of its contents before returning it to my partner. Pine tree snatched it roughly, this time wiping away the stray drops on his neck and cheeks.

"You know." He began, tilting his chin up to catch the underside of his flesh. " Most people would offer to buy me another drink after that." The cloth slid to his forearms, where he picked meticulously at the drying liquor that glued his arm hairs together.

"I'm what you call 'different ,' hun." I breathed in the weighted smoke of my rolled cuban cigar, lovingly blowing a puff in his face. Pine tree didn't flinch, only softening his features to shoot me an annoyed look.

"If by 'different' you mean brainless: Sure, yeah." He scoffed, waving his hand at me. "You're different as hell." Shifting his position, he sat himself up, forcing the handkerchief under his seat before wiping up the wet cushion.

"Only for you, darling." The club's music shifted to a quick-paced beat, queuing the flashing lights to switch colors and hues with every changing melody. It was tiresome, hearing the monotonous cheer of middle-aged men as they clinked their drinks, swang their hips, and stomped their feet on the floor. Luckily, they strayed from the bar, keeping themselves planted on the platinum-printed ground, watched over by a crystal disco flashing streams of Epilepsy. I leaned back on the bar's isle, elbows propping me up from behind when I squeezed myself between pine tree and Mr. Fang.

"You wouldn't happen to be a dancer, would you?" I called out to him beyond the blaring music, hoping to snag his ear. At first, he looked at me like he hadn't understood. When he saw where my eye was trained, he broke out in a loose grin.

"Do I look like a dancer?" Pine tree leaned in a bit, flicking the tip of my nose teasingly. "I've got two left feet." I chuckled at the tingling sensation his finger left me, rubbing my nose for stimulation.

"I'm sure you're a wonderful dancer." Mr. Fang cut in, leaning over my chest to cast his voice. It was annoying; the sheer thought of this pale man talking along my chest just to converse with a queer boy like pine tree almost made me growl. But, manners. Manners , Bill.

I caught his eye for a moment, just in time to feel something. An odd tingle of familiarity, like a subtle gust of wind crafted by slamming doors, but the sensation was gone in an instance. He, however, looked back with a knowing glint, as though to share an inside joke with me. As though to say, ' Now, isn't this odd? The two of us? Here of all places? How funny.' I willed an even deeper grin than before, swiftly turning to face the bartender. I ordered scotch.

"You say that now." Pine tree shot back, snorting cutely. "I'm bad, trust me. I'd lose a dance battle to Stephen Hawking." I turned around, drink in hand; something he looked at expectantly, shifting from the clear glass to my single eye, brow raising when his features grew expectant.

"You're seriously not replacing my drink." Pine tree almost sounded surprised, only to shake his head. "Jesus, you're an ass." He laughed, arms stretched out to scoop up the glass in my hand, taking a sip before returning it. He acted as though it was perfectly appropriate to do so. I should've been irritated. I wasn't, however. I couldn't help but admire his boldness, allowing the disrespect out of pride alone. Pride for him. Pride, calling him my underling. My puppet.

A tightness formed in my core, recalling the plans I'd set up for him and his family.

No, Bill. No. Pretend. Don't **be **.

I watched as pine tree pressed a thumb against his lip, smearing away the lingering drop that clung to him, and it made me think: Humans are like that. Drops. Tiny bits of water sliding down the slick cool of a refreshing beverage. A little taste of the whole. Sweet perhaps, but otherwise fleeting. I'd have to remember. This kid was just a drop of the wonderfully delicious revenge I planned on exacting. No point in savoring it.

Yes. Just a dollop. Hardly something to groan over.

Still, the way his lip plushed in against the force of his thumb gave me flashes of heat. Small, greyed sensations of his lips pressing against mine. Hands roaming. Breath hitching. The delectable burn of iron and blood, smearing my collared shirt and neck. My favorite tie, ruined. How pitiful. Still, it was a price I would pay. If only to lick up that single drop.

"I'll buy you a drink." Mr. Fang offered, once again from over my chest. I wasn't quite so keen this time, angling my body to cut in on the two. He leaned ahead, trying to make eye contact with pine tree, but it was at an awkward angle.

"Oh, uh-. That's okay. I'll just buy one myself." Pine tree was gracious as ever, too modest to let such a gentleman pay for his drinks. It was a punishment in his mind, having someone waste their hard-earned cash on a girly cocktail for his drunk fingers to fumble over. How wrong he was. For, if beverages were passed on to the buyer, and pine tree had the misfortune of taking his eyes off his drink, who's to say the man wouldn't slip a little something-something in it? That was exactly the point.

" Nonsense . I own the place, remember? Take what you like." Oh, but wasn't Mr. Fang so generous ? I rolled my eye, tilting my drink back as the scotch splashed my tongue.

"No, really. I'm good." Pine tree slapped my back with a show of almost-pride. "I only come to this guy for cash." He tossed me a drunken side-grin, hand placed firmly between my shoulder blades as he tapped his fingers down on me.

"Is that so? " Mr. Fang wasn't leaning over my chest to speak anymore. Instead, he straightened up to become level with me. He didn't exactly make eye contact, but focused on the space just between my brows, smoothing his hands over his suit to clear away any creases and wrinkles. Yes. He was definitely stealing my look. "And, who might you be, good sir?" The question would've sounded almost sarcastic if it weren't for his damn mannerisms. He offered his hand to me as a sign of greeting.

"William Angle." We shook, his hand barely matching up with my firm grip, in part for my untamable desire to smash his knuckles together. Mr. Fang smiled fondly.

"Ah, yes. So you're the fine owner, then." His hand slipped away before I could squeeze the meat from his fingertips. He acted like he didn't even register the pain. "I must say, I'm impressed with your scouting. The prostitutes here don't usually come so pretty."

"You think? I thought he was average at best-." Pine tree slapped the back of my head, forcing a laugh from my throat. He gave me a dirty look, only to reach for my drink once more and finish my scotch.

"You're lucky I'm unarmed." My partner turned from me, once again facing the multitude of glistening wine glasses and shots stacked meticulously behind the bar's table. A hand went up, and he was getting the tender's attention. "Whiskey; Dry ." He said.

" Whoa . Doing the hard stuff already? It's not even midnight."

"Just getting a head start on the migraine you're giving me." Pine tree lifted his drink a bit, slouching back on the table before taking a hard gulp of the substance. A sour look passed his features, mouth opening, blehing at the bitter punch it gave him, only to go right back to it. I had to give him credit, though. I was impressed: The kid's a real alcoholic.

"Anyways." Mr. Fang cleared his throat, hoping to regain my attention. "My name's Mr. Fang . I'm the owner of this establishment."

"Who would've thought?" A sneer was just barely muffled by my tight smile, staring at him with the beety reserve of an owl. I swayed myself from rolling an eye at yet another poorly placed example of hospitality. ' Establishment?' Ha! We were at a damn strip club! Nothing ' established' about it. "It's an honor to meet you." The genuine distaste I felt for him couldn't be masked. And, oddly enough, Mr. Fang became strange about it.

Not offended or hurt, like most people would be with such an ego. This man surely had one, using vocabulary like ' establishment' for lude works in prostitution. But, it was his work. And, he was a proud man for being so successful in it. His seating posture became upright as a dog's perked ears, looking at me like I'd gone mad. Of course I had. It wasn't uncommon to get that look. Still, it'd been a while since returning in this form.

" Meet me?" He questioned, stopping the drink pressed against his lips. I cocked a brow up.

"Well, we did just meet ." Was all I could bother.

I turned back to face the bartender, ordering yet another drink. A screwdriver this time. Honestly, I'd never understood the appeal of alcoholic beverages. But, it'd look odd without a drink in hand somehow. A small something missing in a picture perfect scene. Besides, it wasn't too bad taking a heavy swig of the bronze and clear liquor, as long as the stuff burned on the way down.

"' Just'? Are you kidding, Bill?" Mr. Fang almost looked hurt by the way he placed either hand on his chest, gesturing towards himself with determined eyes. His smile remained propper, however. Playful. Like I was joking. Hoping it was a joke. Whatever 'it' was. "It's me. Don't you remember?" Pine tree was leaning over now, drink in hand, sprouting a confused look of his own. I couldn't blame him. We'd just introduced ourselves. It wasn't like we'd do that without cause.

Unless he'd thought we were making fun .

A little ' wink wink nudge nudge ' we'd tease each other about. ' Oh of course of course **Mr. Fang **what a fine surprise seeing **you **here of all places I didn't expect **your **presence tonight.' Pretending not to know, but being perfectly aware in the situation. It was a peaceful game used for inside jokes, surrounded by those not yet let in on it. But, for the life of me, I couldn't pin his features. He was a new face to my eye. I hadn't been let in on the joke either, it seemed.

"Do you two know each other?" Pine tree snuggled up a little, pressing his top lip to the rim of his beverage, teeth glossing over smooth glass as his tongue flickered out at the hard drink within. He was like a small kitten lapping up the remnants of milk. That only made him seem more keen, though. More observant. He'd pick up on anything now, tuned to our game like a cryptic text of code. Did I know Mr. Fang? Surely not in this form. But, perhaps another .

"We go way back." He replied to the smaller, giving me a look. A new one, but honorably familiar. Yes, I knew him. From somewhere. From sometime.

My hand went to tilt the drink up in pine tree's grasp, just as it hit his lips. The glass went too far back, and he was instantly shot with a splash of vodka over his cheeks, down his chin, and just short of his nostrils. It made for a wonderful sight, watching him sputter helplessly against the wretched burn that caught in his throat, went down the wrong tube, and had him coughing up a storm.

" **O-oh my G-od **!" Pine tree choked, placing a fist over his mouth as the spasm became uncontrollable. " **Wh-at the f-u-ck?! **" The drink had spilled over his lap once more, same as the last. And, this time, Mr. Fang made no move to offer him a handkerchief.

"Oh, dear. It seems you're all wet again." I smiled cheekily. "Why don't you go clean up, hun? We'll wait 'til you get back." My head nudged in the direction of the bathroom. A cheaply painted door with chipping purple, faded glitter, and stained-brown corners from spilt drinks. Few bodies entered or exited without trailing someone behind them by the hand, wrapped around each other's waists, or clinging to the larger by interlaced fingers around their neck.

Pine tree scowled at me pointedly, still coughing and wiping his back hand across the hollow of his throat.

" **Assh-ole .** " He said before sliding from his seat. The drink instantly slid from his lap, having been cupped there by his pressed thighs like rain in a porcelain dish. He groaned endlessly, sliding his hands to smooth away the wetness, only for the remainder to sit, dry, and stick. A grimace wasn't so much as suppressed from his features, glaring sharp daggers when his eyes met mine.

I thought he might depart with a final word of hatred. Some kind of threat to ponder on. To entertain me. But, he wasn't so kind. He simply turned, kicked the leg of my stool, and went off to clean himself. I almost felt saddened by it, if not for the show he made while walking away. It was hard not to love the little guy.

"He's a fighter." Mr. Fang mused.

"Eh, humans are like that sometimes." The bartender arrived, whipping out his rag before circling the mess pine tree'd made just moments before.

"That, they are." He nodded in agreeance, still watching the boy as he slipped into the bathroom. Mr. Fang swirled the base of his drink, watching the ice clink around before turning back to view me. "Humans are dangerous creatures, Bill." He crossed his legs.

"More than me ?" I laughed, knowing full and well the answer.

"Well, you were defeated by one." His voice was cautious. Hesitant, like he meant not to offend me, while still willing a light on the situation. It was a bold statement, especially for someone I didn't know. Or, didn't know I knew. It gave me pause, my hands folding, head lowering, watching him curiously as he waited for my response.

I'd been alive since the beginning of time. It wasn't unusual to forget a face or two. I hardly remembered my own mother's face, let alone some stranger's. But, then again, I always hated my mother. Was this man the same? Could I only forget the ones I hated? No. Not likely. Those were the ones I remembered best. Her features had only been obscured by time, not feeling. She'd lasted far longer than any childhood friend or favored beast I'd come across.

"That battle's taken out of context." His features were plain, though. Nothing to pick from, and nothing to remember. But, I was sure of it. I knew this man. "Let's start over, then. You say you know me?" The look of blunt disappointment drooped along his features, threatening to drip off like candle wax. He took a breath, looked to the bathroom door, and back at me.

"A while ago. Back in your old body. Don't you remember?"

"I obviously don't. But, please. Enlighten me." My hand rolled through the air before stopping to gesture for him to continue. The man only sighed, looked to his open hands, and back up.

"I'd hoped you wouldn't forget these sorts of things." Mr. Fang began, combing a bony hand through his hair. "You were never one to forget."

"Oh, yes. But I was one to not give a shit. Amazing how often those two get confused."

"Right. Right." He paused after that. The corners of his lips twitched sadly, not sure whether to grimace or frown or speak or keep silent. He threw away all options, nodding respectfully instead. "You did that a lot." Mr. Fang said.

" Do . I do that a lot. Don't go living in the past, paisty. Might get stuck there." Another drink. This one with a tiny umbrella stabbed through a cherry heart, bleeding out into the clear liquor. The taste wasn't half-bad, but it was spoiled by the man's childish pout. I rolled my eye. "So, tell me something." My fingers picked out the little umbrella, biting off the cherry and twirling the thin stick boredly.

" Anything ." Mr. Fang was eager suddenly, leaning in a bit too close for my comfort. It's not like I had much reserve for personal space, though.

"How'd you know it was me?" I asked.

"Huh?" The club's music switched to the soft stuff, signalling a change after midnight. The sensual work was only done after the dancers got too tired for upbeat partying.

"You heard me. I haven't been my triangular self for almost a month now." I caught an ice cube between my teeth, letting it sit on my tongue before being placed under my molars. I crushed it with a crunch.

Mr. Fang looked surprised, unprepared for my unrelated question. He'd expected trivia on himself, I was sure. How we knew each other. How long ago. Where we met. But, I didn't know who he was. Period . And, when someone like me forgot a face, it wasn't from old age or a foggy mind. It was because they hardly mattered to begin with. Of course, I was bugged by the ounce of remembrance I felt when our eyes locked. But it wasn't something worth stressing over. I didn't care in the least.

"Your smell." He pressed a finger to his nose after a moment, emphasizing his point. "Mostly, you smell like blood and skin. Your cigars, obviously. Wool from your suits. A few drinks. The cologne you tested out on your wrists before washing away."

"Quite the sniffer you've got there, bloodhound." I leaned back in my seat.

"And gold. " Mr. Fang finished.

" Gold? Ha! Really?" I leaned back, getting a full look of the man seated before me. I wouldn't forget someone with such a weird gift, would I?

"You smell like a brick of gold in a bag of flesh." He peaked over his shoulder, making sure the coast was still clear.

"I think I have a scented candle like that back at my place." My drink went down far too easily, and I felt the foreboding pressure that swam in my human gut. Perhaps I'll throw up tonight. Perhaps. "So, what are you then? A werewolf? Gnomes?" I tore into the napkin placed under my drink.

"I think we both know what I am."

"Can never be sure about these things, Mr. Fang. " I laughed, hooking my index fingers downwards and placing them on either side of my lips, mocking a hiss face at him. He chuckled back.

"I get the feeling I make it too easy for people." He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly; not necessarily ashamed, but feeling he could've done more with such an open-ended alias.

"Well, my partner hasn't caught on yet." I sat up, craning my neck over his shoulder to get a peak at the bathroom doors again. Pine tree was still there.

Perhaps washing his hands. Scraping away the glossy layer of liquor that froze over his latex. Checking his reflection. Begrudgingly reapplying the subtle mascara Llama had once again dolled him up with. She was the only one he would let in on the whole situation.

"Partner? You mean the prostitute?" Mr. Fang seemed wonderfully intrigued by my answer. Hell, he had tried drugging him a few minutes ago. Something told me he liked pine tree. A lot.

"Yeah. The guy'd fallen on some hard times when I first picked him up. Crack house . You know how it is." I leaned back, pushing my drink aside and replacing it with my elbow. A thick cigar slid out from my breast pocket, but I didn't use a lighter this time. It'd been a while since I'd used it, and it was always fun seeing a reaction or two, so I decided on using my pyrokinesis.

Just a little.

Pressing my thumb to the base of the roll, I sucked in a breath before feeling the familiar heat of smoke filling my lungs. It took a second longer than usual and a bit more energy, but that was probably because of the liquor. Besides, it was worth it. Needless to say, Mr. Fang's eyes lit up from the display with whimsical curiosity and slight disbelief. Though, he said nothing of it.

"You don't say?" His eyes moved from me in an instance, once again turning towards the stalls. An almost pitiable look crossed his features. "And, how long have you two known each other for?"

"Oh, years! Years! We met back when he was a little kid." The bar tended sat another drink in front of me, but I made no move to down it. I'd had enough.

"A little kid? Really?" He placed a hand under his chin, muling over the statement. "How sad… Imagine a child in a crack house."

"It's a crazy world out there. Lots of monsters. Lots of crimes." This cigar tasted different to me somehow. A bit heavier. A bit sweeter. "He's lucky he met me."

"I'll say. You saved his life. He owes you that much." Mr. Fang nodded with admiration, and for an instance, just short of remembrance, my mind twisted with a half-baked design of his features. Younger. More light. More tan. Wrapped in a rag of brown and green. Or, perhaps red. Purple, maybe. Or, maybe it wasn't rags at all. He might have been in a captain's uniform. A pirate. An astronaut. A sea man, set on discovering buried treasure. Or, perhaps just a counter boy at the check out.

I'd keep thinking about it.

"Well, I'm glad you think that." Maybe it was the drinks. The smoke going to my head, eating away at my brain. I may have simply felt comfortable around him. Or -very unlikely- maybe a small part of me felt vague guilt for not remembering him.

Either way, I believed in that instance I could console in him this one desire. This one thing I wanted to do to pine tree more than anything. When we were alone, I felt I was the only one able to fulfill such a tall order. Something I'd wanted to do to him since he was a child.

"Because, I'm gonna kill him." I finished.

Mr. Fang choked on his drink.

" W-what ?" He wiped his hand over his bottom lip, staring at me like I was crazy. Which I was. "What did you just say? That you were gonna-?"

"Eh, the kid's been a real pain in the ass lately. I don't know. He's more trouble than he's worth, I guess." I studied his features after my response: Total confusion. Perhaps it was the years that muddled his mind. There was no way he'd ever met me if there was a doubt in his mind I was joking. One look in my eye told the tale of uncontrollable blood lust. "I'm just gonna chuck 'em."

"But-. But, why? You saved him, didn't you?"

"I do a whole bunch of things without reason, pal. You know this! Having a cute one around once in awhile isn't so bad, I'll admit. But, it's all pulling teeth with him. Can't get a damn second of peace around the guy." I twirled my cigar between loose fingers, watching him comically.

"You don't like peace, though!" Mr. Fang protested.

"Who knows? Might give it a try." I shrugged my shoulders. "When I retire or something."

"You won't retire. You're Bill. "

"You say that like I even remember you." There was that wonderful rush of joy I felt pulsing through me. It felt so good saying that. As though to give up on pinning his features. Recalling his voice. Even knowing his real name. Who cared? Who cares?

This man is nobody.

"He's a sweet guy, Cipher. Maybe hold off on it. You might change your mind."

"Why do you care what happens to him? Weren't you trying to drug him an hour before?" The countered look on his face was all I needed. Like two shots of vodka. He looked absolutely caught then. A little exposed now, once again turning to make sure pine tree was out of ear shot. Because, it'd probably been a while since someone called him out. Who'd call out a man in a suit? Dressed so neat, and so polite. Who pulled out your bar stool and offered to buy a drink. Used honorifics like 'Mr.' and 'Mrs.' Oh, no. Such a man would never.

But, such a man would.

"That wasn't what it looked like-."

"But, it was. Wasn't it?" I cut in, holding myself with a new-found pride. I'd caught him red handed. " Yeah . So, don't go acting all chivalry around me. I know your game. Hell, I invented it."

"Still." It annoyed me how this guy had it in him to argue his point. Hadn't he lost already? "He's a nice guy. Pretty face at least."

"And? Who cares?"

" I care!"

"Oh?" I asked, leaning forward to meet his gaze. He sat up a little, disturbed by my proximity. "And, who cares about you ?" Mr. Fang went silent after that, brows furrowing and chin pruning when he frowned. I almost felt like asking him to come outside with me. A little tussle would've been the cherry on top! But, pine tree reemerged; a bit wobbly, paper towels mushed up in his fist, still dabbing at the soaked under layer.

"Ah, babe! We were just talking about you-!"

"Not in the mood, Captain spills-a-lot ." He scowled at me, but there was almost no fire to it now that he'd calmed down. He picked up the oversized green jacket he'd brought with him, slinging it over his shoulders. It draped his torso pitifully; like curtains closing on the promised land. That was always his que to take him home. To say ' show's over, buddy.' And, as though by stage direction, he pursed his lips and looked at me without humor or rage or joy. Simply fatigue. "Take me home."

" As you wish~ ." I placed an arm around his shoulder, pulling him closer as his swaying head lolled lowly. Pine tree didn't resist the contact. He didn't push me away or step on my foot. In fact, he grew closer to me, resting his head in the nape of my neck where I cradled his fading consciousness. His breathing was slowing. Eyes shutting. He no longer flinched to the pinching fingers and sliding hands. Only groaning when any contact that wasn't me touched him.

I picked a route with few people.

I looked back once, having not so much as departed with words. ' Goodbye,' I could say. But, what was the conclusion in that? What was the satisfaction? We'd be back the next night, after all. So, did I need to give my farewells to begin with? Eventually, perhaps. But, not tonight. I simply winked, smiled at Mr. Fang's darkened, pathetic face, and exited the club.

The next morning, I received a panicked call from Mabel. It was hardly intelligible when she blubbered on, weeping into the phone and crying hopelessly. Like a child. I made my way to their apartment at my own pace. My own speed. By the time I got over there, a police car was already parked out front, one of their partners tuning into the radio as they waited out the investigation.

And, what was to be investigated? I entered the place, instantly met with a flash of light from big-bulbed cameras and mild bickering. One officer suggested he came from the rooftops. Another said he climbed the fire escape ladder to reach the window. The crime scene they so vigorously scoped out was a small bedroom with messy sheets, unfolded laundry, and the subtle smell of ink and freshly cut grass. Maybe lavender.

Everything but the window was in tact. All dressers closed. Closet unopened. No cash taken from under the mattress. Not even the laptop had been snagged. But, the window. The window had been shattered. And, the bed was unmade. Mabel assured the police ' He never makes his bed. ' Still, it was written down. The bed was unmade. And messy. Perhaps a struggle? Maybe just a restless sleeper. Probably both.

Mabel sat on the couch, sobbing endlessly as she squeezed the fat hog between paling arms. Eyes puffed, cheeks red, it looked like she'd been crying all morning. The police said there were no fingerprints. No hair follicles or blood from the glass shards. A deep footprint had been pressed into shag carpeting, but that could belong to anyone. But, why did she cry?

Her yarn hadn't been touched. Nor her pinned collection of local cuties hanging creepily from her bedroom wall. No one had entered her room late at night, and all savings stashed under the kitchen sink, stuffed inside a dish soap bottle, had been spared. She knew where her pig was, snatched within her grasp. The cute coat she'd knitted a few weeks back, with floral embroideries and fat pink buttons on either cuff, was still hung in the closet.

What was missing? A pair of shoes. Some shorts. A tight, black top. A green jacket. And, whatever had been in his pockets the night before.

Where was pine tree?


	25. A Dark Room

The collar was snapped tightly around my neck. A long, silver chain connected to a humiliating link that dug into the leather strap, trailing away to the wall where it'd been seared into brick. I was on a leash, lying on the cement floor wearing the same clothes from last night. I squirmed awkwardly on the checkered quilt Mr. Fang had laid out for me; like a dog's bed. I suppose he expected me to sleep down here.

[]

He'd appeared to me before the sun rose, cloaked in black with a dark scarf sheathing his features.

At my bedroom window.

In my apartment.

On the fourth floor.

I thought I was dreaming. If I was being completely honest, I'd seen him once or twice in my sleep before. On the edge of the screen. Behind a line he could not cross. Never in the foreground, but somehow near me. And, what did he do? Nothing. Just watched, grinned, and offered to buy me a drink, each time distorted and plain. Mr. Fang always faded from the dream eventually; like wiping away candle wax from a glass window, smearing his features from a disingenuine background.

But, for as long as I stared at him that night, watching the man perched atop the windowsill, he would not disappear. He did however ask if I could make him a Mojito, which I agreed to do. Hell, it was a dream. Might as well make a drink while I was at it. I wasn't sure I could make it to the kitchen with so much glass on the floor, being he'd broken my window. Then again, it wasn't like I'd get hurt . It wasn't like any of this was real. I sat up from the bed, dangling my feet over the edge, looking at the pretty shards that twinkled before me against the pale of moonlight. Like stars. I would be engulfed by stars.

One heel to the ground instantly alerted me of the searing pain shooting up my leg. I lurched up, clambering back on my bed with a call of surprise. My hand went to cradle the injured foot in my lap, fingers rubbing over the attacked flesh. There, at the base of my heel, was the hard protrusion of glass, along with a throbbing sensation when I so much as prodded it. I felt a slick wetness against my skin. Blood.

I wasn't dreaming.

That's when he took me. As though a thief in the night, looming over me before drawing my body to stand. Mr. Fang grabbed me by either shoulder, pulling me to his chest and ducking out the window. He was strong with arms like metal bars, keeping me settled within the cover of his black cape, shifting from rooftop to rooftop. At lightning speed; graceful and soft on the landings, but nauseating with every crouch, launching us through the air. I hardly processed the journey, aside from a few swift turns that made my head justle.

I didn't even have an opportunity to fight him off. By the time I got the first shot in, my left fist seemingly smashing against hard marble when it made contact with his cheekbone, we were already some place completely different.

The Red Cross - After Hours.

He slowed down after that, holding me by the waist and wrist while I thrashed around uselessly. Guiding me inside, I took several shots at his shins. Kicking around, hissing, and taking chomps at either of his hands, my body worked to free itself. Mr. Fang was unfazed, only asking me to calm down, lest I strain myself trying. No part of my body restrained by him moved. As though literally encaged by a marble statue. I could only hope to break the arms off.

"What are you doing?! Let go of me!" My legs kicked out, flailing around, trying to create traction against the polished dance floor. When he moved, it wasn't to regain his grip on me. He had me just fine . If anything, it was only to make my positioning more easy to carry. He manhandled me, holding me by the elbows as I was forced to follow his guidance.

"Calm down. It's okay." Mr. Fang repeated in my ear, all the while continually leaning into me as I was pulled closer from behind. We travelled over the dance floor, past the lounge, and behind the bar counter, where he let go of me for a moment. He bent down, lifting a corner of the browning mat placed in front of the beer tap.

In that instance of freedom, I took the initiative of grabbing one of the bottles - Indian Single Malt Whiskey- and smashing it over his head. Mr. Fang didn't so much as flinch, only registering the impact on account of noise and the sudden moisture he felt slide down his back. Other than that, it had as much effect as a nat. He lifted up the mat, exposing the hidden little door underneath. Tugging at the loop handlebar, the wooden door came open with a creek, revealing a long, drawn out staircase built of stone and cement.

My heart started banging, peering below as the steps spiralled down and down and down without end.

"Come along." He gestured for me, already a few feet shorter than originally, steeped in the mysterious entrance like a bottomless trench. I shook my head vigorously, only backing away as I placed either hands on the isle. Could I outrun him? Ugh, who was I kidding? Of course not. I couldn't fight him off. The costume I wore didn't have any pockets, meaning my gun was still under my bedroom pillow.

His hand went out for me, and I flinched back even farther. But, he wasn't grabbing for me. It was a sign of offering. He was waiting for me to grab on.

"What are you waiting for?" Mr. Fang asked. I wet my lips, viewing the entrance with overwhelming distress. No one knew where I was. I didn't have anything to defend myself with. Not even a phone to call for help. In any other situation, running away would've been the last thing on my mind. This was pretty much a confession, after all. He was at least playing a hand in the missing people reports, if not running the whole show. And, I was just about to figure out his game.

But, I was unprepared. Lost. Tired. As embarrassing as it sounds, I was kind of… Scared. What if I went down and never came back up? What did he want with me? A chill overcame me when the thought was brought to my attention.

' You **are **a prostitute, Dipper. What do you **think **he wants?' I could feel my throat close up.

"Wh-." I bit my own tongue, stopping myself before panic could overtake my vessel. This is my job. This is my job. And, I'm getting all the details. "What's down there?" I asked.

Mr. Fang looked at me pitifully, a kind of warmth out of place in this scene. His hand stretched out for me, and this time he took the initiative. Grabbing my wrist, he pulled me towards him, forcing my feet to the first step.

" Safety ." He led me down.

[]

I curled up more tightly in the checkered blanket he'd draped over me. After restraining me, of course. One harsh yank on the chain around my neck proved how strong it was. The straightening of linked metal in my hands as I pulled ruthlessly filled me with restlessness. I'd been down here for what felt like hours. Not days, obviously. I would've died of starvation by then. I was a little hungry though, suggesting it was sometime around lunch by now. I never eat breakfast.

The room Mr. Fang had placed me in was dark; damp and dripping like a medieval dungeon. No light. Maybe a few tiny streams from the room above, indicating some time around noon. But, all it did was lighten the far corners. I was completely blind.

And, what could I do at a time like this? Listen. Closely; intently. Over the hours, I made out the distance rattle of chains. Bare feet pacing. Patting along the cold flooring of marble. I noted the shuffling smooth of skin against stone walls, searching for some kind of doorway or exit. Soft weeping perhaps, if not just the uneven snoring of a drunkard.

Prisoners.

Again, I pulled on my chain, met once more with the stubborn resistance not unlike an untrained dog.

" Ah… Shit ." I sighed, leaning my head back to rest against freezing bricks. I heard the rare creaking of that hatch open above us, followed by hidden footsteps as someone made their slow descent with tapping, rubber soles. A shake of chains to my left or right seemed to greet the new party member.

No one spoke, whoever was down here. The door above closed before a light could shine over their faces, making for a mysterious allure as my blind eyes trailed the path of clicking heels along marble floors. It'd happened several times: Someone entering under the shield of darkness, only to entice the heavy shaking of chains. Like a hardy shiver throughout the cellar. A muffled cry. Soft, broken, and stuffed quiet. The figure would leave afterwards, climbing back up the steps and opening the hatch.

The footsteps were different each time. Some light and airy. Others heavy, with deep steps that seemed to draw for long periods of time. Many passed over me, their journey crossing but never touching. Some, though, stopped in front of my path. For only an instance. Still. Standing still, my eyes adjusting to the dark room, able to make out broad shoulders that squared towards me. Once, I'd tried speaking to one. They just passed along, though.

Like this one. Standing still. Watching. I was certain they were watching. However they could, in such darkness. The light shuffling of cloth. The smoothness of flesh over skin. A bare sigh pointed at me. I said nothing, confident this one was just as silent as the last. They were. After a moment, the body continued its walk, the heavy sound of chains welcoming it.

When they left, orange light spilled from the top of the steps and a kind of sadness swept over me. I could scream for help if it ever came to it. But, who would hear me down here? Not even the beings sitting in the room over responded to me when I cast my voice their way. Only shook their chains. My mouth went dry.

"Are you enjoying your stay?" I couldn't help but gasp at the sudden voice, materializing out of nowhere. It was thrown my way from the front, looking me right in my blind eyes as he spoke. Mr. Fang . I hissed, lurching forward in frustration, only for the leash to hold me by the neck. My throat closed for a moment, forcing my hands to shoot up before tugging at where the leather had chafed me. He chuckled. "Careful, now. It's tight."

"No shit , it's tight. I would've kicked your ass if it wasn't." It was a bluff, of course. But, still packed with enough fire to satisfy my ever mounting boredom.

"You wouldn't hurt me." Mr. Fang's voice sounded almost hurt, causing me to snort at him. The leash may have been a better choice than I thought, because I was suddenly overcome with the urge to lung for his throat. I settled for a low growl. "I saved you, pine tree."

"Yeah. I'm leashed up wearing a skimpy latex two piece, trapped in a dark room with no contact to the outside world: My hero." I crossed my arms, eyes shifting from where his voice was. My hand drifted to my waist, pressing to the hard floor as my palm slid along its surface. I felt a tiny pebble bump against my nail. "Mind explaining what I'm doing here?" I took the small rock in my hand, boredly tossing it in his direction. By the way it made instant contact with the floor, I could tell I'd missed him completely.

"I'm keeping you safe." Was Mr. Fang's response. I only laughed.

"Oh, is that what all these people are doing down here? Being kept safe ?" A few silent chain-shakes came to aid in my point.

"They weren't in danger like you were." His dark silhouette came closer. I slid back.

"Oh? And, what was I in danger from, exactly? You know, besides being kidnapped ." Mr. Fang took a long step towards me, forcing my legs to shuffle in. I could feel the base of his dress pants tickle my bent up legs, now leaning over me like an umbrella. His eyes glowed red against the darkness.

"Your partner ." His voice was grave, cast down for me to ponder. But, I didn't. Only snorted instantly, hands going up as I shook them with mock-fear.

" Oooooh ! My partner . Yeah, Bill's a real threat ." I couldn't help the condescending tone that sliced through me, automatically disregarding him. This was some weird tactic captives liked to use against their prisoners. It wasn't easy inflicting stockholm syndrome on the first day, but give it time. He'd try convincing me of the outside world. People close to me weren't as they seemed. It was only safe down here . Bullshit.

Mr. Fang was anything but pleased by my response. I'd looked down, shaking my head with a laugh, only to feel the chilling card of fingers through my hair. His hand clenched shut around my roots, forcing a deep snarl from between my teeth as he yanked my head back, eyes going wide when I stared into the man's snake orbs. The glow from his irises illuminated his features, highlighting his cheekbones and the barest poke of sharp teeth that began to peek from his lips.

" **Don't mock me** ." The authoritarian tone he took made me wince, as though it intensified the searing pain of my scalp. I tried to shoot him a look of anger. Of rage and stubborn bravado. But, with the way his grip continually craned my neck back, I couldn't so much as breathe right. "Be grateful I took pity on you. You'd be a dead man otherwise." I couldn't stop the shakey, strained laugh bubbling from my throat at his words.

" Ah-! Oh, thank you so fucking much, asshole! " I grit through my teeth, placing a hand on either of his, trying to pry him from me. He only shook, my eyes momentarially rolling back as he pulled my face closer to his. His hold tightened, placing his left hand under my chin to keep my face up.

"Watch your mouth, pine tree." Mr. Fang soothed casually, as though talking to a child.

"It's **Dipper **." My eyes slit into a glare, willing as much hatred as I could from my being. Which, for someone getting his hair ripped from his scalp, was impressive.

"Alright, then. Dipper. Watch your mouth, Dipper. You have no idea who you're dealing with." I sneered at him and his proper demeanor. It was infuriating, hearing someone so upright- so damn polite - maintain their disguise even as they were caught red handed. Even when they were shit, and they knew they were shit. When everyone around them knew they were shit, and still, they held themselves with the regard of a gentleman.

I spat in his eye.

" I know **exactly **who I'm dealing with- ." The harsh slap across my face had me losing consciousness, a flash of white slicing my vision before I snapped back to reality. Mr. Fang still had me, hair in hand, thumb pressed into the cheek he'd assaulted. He looked at me with kind, sorrowful eyes, tutting his tongue and shaking his head in disappointment.

"No, you don't. You don't know Bill at all." He dug his thumb into my skin, pressing down with bruising intent. I grit my teeth, trying to lean away from the pressure, only for his other hand to pull me into it.

" Oh, were we still talking about **Bill **?" I managed a supercilious tone even in my position, hoping to compensate for the goddamn respect I'd wasted on this guy. Mr. Fang laughed, wiping away the spit from his eye.

"You don't even know you're in danger." Like hearing a sad tale with an ever-tragic ending, he feigned pity. "Even when it's staring you down." His eyes dropped a shade, switching to the crimson red of a bleeding rose.

" Bill's- ." He tilted my head to the side, making me hiss out in pain. He left my neck perfectly exposed as I continued. "- not fucking dangerous. "

"Oh, but he is. I should know." The hand under my chin left me, now sliding to cool his fingers along my throat. "I used to work for him." My ears perked up at the statement. Work? He worked for him? A guy that lived in this part of town? That had this sort of a business? And, not to mention, kept spare rooms like this under his establishment?

It wasn't all that far fetched, actually...

" Wh-what ?" I croaked, teeth ever bare against the strain of hairs being plucked from my skull.

"You heard me. I worked for him. Back in the day. I was a minion of his." He sighed almost fondly, looking down at me with the clouding wisp of what looked like reminiscence. "We had some good times back then, Bill and I. He really liked causing a bang wherever he went. Still does, I'm guessing?" Mr. Fang looked down at me as though for confirmation, but I stayed silent. What was he talking about? What kind of business were these two in together?

"Yeah. Real loud mouth sometimes, but he's smart. Classy . I've never respected a man more in my life." His eyes went from me, now staring at the wall ahead of him. There was something about his gaze- the way his brows knitted up and his lashed drooped- that gave a sadness about it. A soft intake of air brought him back after the silence. "But, he was crazy."

Again, I couldn't help the weak laugh crawling through my throat. Crazy ? Said the guy keeping people in his cellar. Bill was eccentric . Sort of like me, in a brain dead, pointless kind of way. He had a way of doing things. A way of talking. Of being. He was headstrong; confident. Unhinged, yes. But, not crazy .

The crazy one was Mr. Fang.

"It wasn't until he'd taken it too far that I realized he was a monster. Amazing, no doubt. But, a monster all the same." He shook his head. "I should have seen it coming. Now, I must live out my days redeeming myself."

" Is **that **what the strip club's for ?" He didn't look at me, once again staring off into space. After a moment he stood, releasing my hair, and I couldn't hold back an embarrassing cry of relief at the alleviation of pain. My hands went instantly to sooth at tormented flesh, sighing as I carded fingers through my brown strands. A sigh passed my lips, only to feel his hands back on me. I flinched, trying to pull away, but he was immovable. Obviously. His hands rested on my shoulders now, eyes intense.

"When I found out you worked for him, I couldn't bear the thought of you at his mercy." My lips curled in, knowing perfectly well what would happen if he caught me laughing again. My cheek still hurt from his last slap. A cold, hard feeling that swelled at the skin. "So, I stored you away with my…" His hand rolled through the air, searching endlessly for an appropriate word. After a minute of thinking, his lips parted again. " Charity work. " He finished.

"... Charity ?" I looked into his eyes for any sign of humor. He was dead serious. "What kind of charity?"

"I guess you could call it blood work, young one."

"What's the technical term?" I tested. Mr. Fang sighed, releasing me once again before stepping back. I followed his glowing red eyes as they shifted around the room, looking at whatever it was he could see in such a black place. They lingered for a moment, only to snap back at me.

" Snacking ." He said. "My people call it snacking."

"Your people ?" I sat back on my hands, watching him with careful eyes. "Who exactly are your people?"

Mr. Fang paused at my question. His eyes looked away, then back, then away again. After a moment, his gaze seemed to smile, and he let out a low chuckle. He shook his head in amusement, tutting his tongue playfully.

"You really haven't figured it out yet?" I could tell by his tone of voice he was grinning ear to ear. He, once more, took a step forward. Even as I scooted away, he found my shaded body in the pitch black room, coming up and staring at me with his beady red eyes. "I'm being so obvious , though!" He crouched down, now eye level with me. I could hear the soft shuffle of his suit, watching as the dark outline of his body twitched. His arm went up, placing itself just left of my neck.

"I'm not a fan of charades." I spat back, even as he grew frighteningly close again. The throbbing of my head kept me worried.

"Ever heard the term blood sucker? " His eyes came closer to me, inching towards my face as he spoke. While I stared back, his other hand went to grab my chin again. I didn't so much as move, a frosty chill zapping through my senses where his index met the underside of my jaw.

" Creature of the night? " Mr. Fang added as he tilted my head to the side, exposing my neck once again. This time, I was filled with an overwhelming sense of dread. I began to struggle, kicking my legs out against him as he drew near, but it felt like jamming my toes again solid granite.

"Does Dracula ring a bell?" He cooed, ducking his head to come face to face with my neck. My breathing grew heavy, knowing perfectly well what he meant to do. Even if it was pointless, I had to try fending him off. I pressed my palm against his forehead, while my other went to hold him at the shoulder. His cold breath drew out along my flesh, and true fear finally met me.

I felt two needle-like points resting against my skin.

"No! Stop! Get away! " I said, chest heaving and heart beating when I felt his nose brush along my jawline. His teeth sat against my flesh, ready to sink themselves into me. I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes, the dropping of my stomach all that tethered my sanity as he tested a small poke. It was hardly anything in retrospect, but the sheer thought had me wailing in distress.

I squirmed and whined, trying to wiggle my neck away from him. He just sat there though, plugging the single puncture he'd made with his left fang. And after a moment he drew away, taking his tongue to ride a strip up my throat as he lapped up the blood. I was still huffing in fear, shaking feverishly as his hands slid from my shoulders to around my waist. He laid a single kiss on the wound.

"You're wonderfully tender. I hardly had to press before you started bleeding." My lip trembled, shivering as he spoke softly against my neck. His head was nuzzled against my shoulder, a cold breath puffing out to coat my flesh. He gave me another kiss.

"I couldn't stand the idea of Bill hurting you." His dead lips brushed the base of my chin as he smiled. "You're just so full of life ."

"Th-that's 'cause I'm not **dead** , dumbass." I willed something deep inside of me there. Something usually reserved for Bill. But, now. Here, with a blood draining vamp, I needed all the strength I could get. He chuckled against my neck. I shied away.

"There is no dying here. Only draining."

" Draining…" The words drifted from my lips, my mind going foggy with fear as Mr. Fang sucked in a breath, nuzzled closer to my neck, and blew it down my side.

"My people." He began. "They're starving in Doe town." He seemed to snuggle up on me, hips pressed to my side, almost spooning me as he spoke. He pet my hair, blowing a few strands out of the way.

" St-. Starving? H-how?" I tried to turn my head, but his body simply being there was restriction enough. I couldn't even tilt my head with his under mine.

"We're vampires, Dipper. We thrive on blood." Mr. Fang paused, only to pull me closer. "The blood's bad here, though. Alcohol poisoning. HIVs. Hepatitis B and C. The whole shebang. When I first got here, vampires couldn't so much as sip from a neck without fear of catching something." The distant shaking of chains pulled my mind from him, only for him to lick my neck. I gulped.

"Why not go somewhere else for blood?"

"Eh, it's out of the way. I wanted to make a place convenient for my people to thrive. Somewhere safe, with donors I knew were clean." My breath hitched, feeling him shift just a little. His body was moving over me, chest sliding along my shoulder as he finally lifted his head. Mr. Fang's eyes were a vibrant red. "I did this for good, Dipper. I'm a good guy..." By the way his eyes got closer, I knew what he was trying to do. I put a hand over my mouth, blocking his lips from mine.

That was it. That was the confession I was looking for. And, it made perfect sense. He was scoping out the scene. Looking for people that didn't get around too much, and bringing them down here. He said they didn't die. Only drained. Perhaps the missing people were still alive then? I heard a jingle of chains in the distance.

"Huh?" Mr. Fang went, pulling away. He hadn't expected me to be bold enough to resist. Or, maybe he thought I was still under his spell of dapper appeal. Well, I had only one thing to say to that.

"I'm straight."


	26. Mouth Full

He looked at me baffled, finally pulling away. The glow of his eyes dimmed to a light smolder.

"Stop messing around." He warned, looking at me awkwardly. The comment had come out of left field, and it was unprecedented in this situation. In his mind, this was probably some hot, steamy foreplay. But in my mind, this was still an interrogation, and I was just getting the scoop.

"Not kidding. I've even got a girlfriend." He hissed painfully at my comment.

" Blasphemy!" I bit my lower lip, unable to fully hold off on the growing snicker in my chest.

"Hey, you never asked about my sexual preference."

"You were in a gay strip club!" He threw his hands up, lifting himself from me. "How was that not suspicious?!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. I was there for missionary work, buddy."

"You said you worked the corner." He shot.

"And you said your name was Mr. Fang, but something tells me life isn't that coincidental."

He took a step back, obviously shocked by my new found bravery. Where had this mouth come from all of a sudden? Well, if I was being honest, it came from fear of a nervous breakdown. I still shook, watching those fiery eyes die and flame in an unorthodox fashion, all the while the grinding of teeth scraped about. If I was standing, my knees would've buckled beneath me already. They only jiggled though, falling to one side as I forced a smile along my features. I couldn't panic.

" You were a lot more charming at the bar." Mr. Fang spat, a glint of white teeth shining in the black room. I looked up, noting a tiny hole above the space where the smallest of lights streamed down. It was like a single string of hope, seeing the barest of smoke lift from Mr. Fang's canine as it bounced off the sunlight. He moved forward, having not even felt the slight burning of his enamel. Damn it.

"Funny. I was thinking something similar." I leaned forward, glaring in his direction, placing either of my hands on the floor with the intent of looking prepared. Ready to run at him, even with the leash still tightly wrapped around my throat. Mr. Fang hissed at me.

" **You bitch! **" His voice became gruff, eyes cold and glossed over with a shade of red completely alien to me. It was like crimson on heroine; so bright and vibrant they could have heated a football stadium during heavy snow. " **You ready to know true darkness? **" My bravery was quickly snatched from me. He snapped his fingers, and flashed of flames overhead brought light all around.

The room was visible to me now. The walls were brick stones. The floors swam with orange and yellow, reflecting the light portrayed by torches snapped along each wall. The room was much smaller than previously assumed, only about as large as the dance floor and the bar's isle combined. There was an old chandelier overhead, lit by hundreds of tiny wax candles that drizzled down, clung to the metal holders, but never seemed to drip to the floor. Just ahead of me was a spiral staircase, overdone in design and dizzy to look at.

That wasn't what caught my attention, though.

It was the rattling of chains. To the left of me- the right- were dozens of thin, pale bodies chained by their wrists to the walls. Boney. Gangly . Eyes shutting against the light they hadn't seen in what for some was probably months. They had bite marks all over them. Not just on their necks, but on their stomachs. Arms. Legs. The soles of their feet. Even one poor fellow who'd been sucked straight from the heart. I choked on a scream, eyes adjusting to the light as something became horribly obvious to me.

Their mouths had been sewn shut.

The look on my face said it all. I couldn't close the gaping hole that was my mouth, in part fearing he'd stitch me up too. I could only shake my head in disbelief, eyes growing misty in the presence of such torture. The blood dribbling down their chins looked fresh.

" Do you like what I've done with the place? I didn't want them to make a racket when you came over ." I felt a sharp twist in my stomach before I started dry heavy uncontrollably. Luckily, I hadn't had anything to eat all day, and every bit of alcohol from last night had gone down the toilet one way or another. It forced my body to convulse though, unable to relieve itself of this growing despair that bubbled, burned, and slashed at my gut.

Is this my fault?

God, no. No, Dipper. Not your fault.

His fault.

" You-. You did this. " I let out a shaky breath, turning to face the monster before me. Mr. Fang grinned back with soft, genuine features. "You're crazy." it came out like a whisper.

"Don't be rude. I ruined my best shirt for this." He walked over to one of the captives. A scared blond male in his mid-thirties, sprouting a four o'clock shadow and drooping, pitiable bags. Mr. Fang placed his hand atop the man's head, rubbing it playfully. "Thought you'd sleep better without all the crying going around."

" You're fucking **sick **!" I lurched against the collar, choked out for only a moment. I could feel the devastation engulf me. The chains jingled about, and I saw few still struggling to break free. Most simply sat there, accepting their fates. Flies, nats, and maggots ate along the untended to wounds of men and women, bleeding and dripping endlessly. I began to dry heave again. Spit dripped from my lips when nothing came up, and I was overcome with an unbearable need to disappear." You're fucking- !" I began again.

That was enough time for him to reach me.

He grabbed me by the cheeks, squishing me as I was forced to look into his eyes. He was furious.

"I did this for you . I was trying to protect you!" Mr. Fang snarled, shaking as he screamed in my face. I couldn't help it. I started to tear up once more, whimpering helplessly as his grip pressed along my teeth. He could've knocked my molars out if he wanted to. "And, you-... You don't deserve my hospitality." His left hand went up to pet my hair softly, only to leave and reach for his breast pocket. He pulled out a needle and thread.

" Close your mouth ." He ordered. I didn't, blinking rapidly as I tried fruitlessly to free myself. He took out the needle with one hand, string already tied through its tiny eye when he led it to my lips. " Close your mouth, damn it !" I broke out in a cry of pain, feeling the pressure around my jaw burn into me. His fingers had left my cheeks, giving me room to shut my trap as he waited with demanding eyes. No way. No way no way no way !

" Fuck you!" I spat on him again, this time hitting his cheek. Mr. Fang snapped, lifting his hand to clack my mouth shut by force. It would've cut off my tongue if I weren't so quick about sliding it back in. I could feel the barest of shrieks strain in my throat, unable to pour over as he held my lips together.

"Let's make this nice and neat, okay pine tree?" He leaned down to whisper into my ear, giving me one final kiss at the lobe. When he pulled away to face me, a kind of resolve had crossed his features. He was ready to throw me away. My eyes were blown wide, nostrils flaring as I tried my hardest to say something. Anything that would get him to stop. Nothing came out, though. Just the animalistic, throaty whine of something far away and lost on deaf ears.

The heavy slam of a door startled us both. Mr. Fang turned just slightly, still cupping my face in his hand, needle pressed against my lip, looking curiously towards the staircase.

"That's odd… I don't remember anyone scheduling to feed at this time." He mused, needle sliding just slightly from my mouth.

I felt pure gratitude in that instance for whoever had interrupted us, eyes rolling forward in hopes of catching a glimpse of my savior. Loud, almost obnoxious footsteps could be heard bouncing downwards, like a show pony trotting along a stoney passage. I could make out a simple whistle. A few snaps of the finger as the mysterious figure seemingly jammed his way down the winding staircase, periodically tapping his feet and drumming his hands along the stoney walls.

I looked to Mr. Fang, who shot up a brow after registering the noise. The happy tune was definitely out of place in this scene, and almost uncomfortable the way he waited. His eyes shifted towards me for an instance, catching my gaze already on him, only to clear his throat and look away. He felt very awkward all of a sudden.

"Um… Hello? " Mr. Fang called out, his voice echoing upwards. Bill's head poked out, peeking around the corner as he smiled cheekily, lifting his hand with a wave.

" Howdy ." He popped, giving the man a once over. Mr. Fang grew pale as a sheet, whatever blood was left in his system instantly seeping away as his mouth fell open, staring at him. I'd never been so happy to see such a piece of shit in my life. "Sorry I'm late. Seems I lost my invitation in the mail." Bill cooed.

" B-Bill ?! But- but, I ordered my guards not to let you in!" Mr. Fang stammered, mind unable to properly grasp the situation. His hands faltered, allowing me to rest and flex my jaw just slightly.

"Should've paid them more." Bill shrugged. "I bought them off with a Sam's club gift card." He swung around the corner, holding the edge of the stoney wall like a light pole. He looked smug as ever, seeing me helplessly mushed against the wall, literally speechless as I stared at him with what I'd never admit was admiration. I'm sure he already knew, anyways.

"How did you find this place?!" Mr. Fang snarled, his grip returning with a new flame in it. I hisses softly, praying to god he wouldn't crush my jaw.

"You kidding? These walls aint sound proof, ya know. Isn't that hard to echo-locate your precious little hideout when you're screaming ." Bill chanced a single step forward, arms crossed, gaze lowered to view me. A deep, cruel smile slid along his lips. " Both of you." He finished, looking right at me.

I flushed against the realization, remembering how pitiful I'd been just moments before almost getting my mouth clamped. It was understandable, but the shame was still there. Not very manly of me. Not very manly at all.

Mr. Fang shook, hand sliding from my jaw to my neck, pressing his white thumb along the hollow of my throat. I could feel my heartbeat vibrating off of him, as though he were a stethoscope. His gaze met mine for a moment, and I noted the obvious desperation he suddenly felt, which was odd. Why was a vampire afraid of Bill?

"St-stay back!" Mr. Fang warned. "Or-! O-or I'll kill him!" His grip tested a light squeeze, only to loosen instantly, as though not really wanting to do it. Which, maybe deep down, he didn't.

"I think we both know that's not gonna work on me." Bill laughed back, smiling happily at the pale man's worried features. His lip began to tremble. For once, that dapper exterior didn't look quite so dapper. He looked stale. Plastic. A bit on the flimsy side, and not at all worth the price of a real gentleman. He looked, for a moment, like yet another trailer park rat.

Angle slid out a silver pistol.

" Bill… " Mr. Fang began, letting his fingers slide away as he stood. I felt an amazing amount of relief, able to breathe properly and rotate my jaw. I put a hand up, massaging the strained muscles. "Buddy, come on. We were-. I was your friend , right? We were friends."

Bill kept smiling, one hand in his pocket, eyes glazed with the glint of an uncaring killer. I could feel a lump in my throat, watching him tap his thumb against the fire arm's base like it was all up to him. Everything. Everything that ever was or would ever be was all dependent on this moment. And, he'd already chosen an outcome.

"Remember Two-bite? He was my cousin, remember? Back in the day, you know." Mr. Fang tried to smile, but his lips wouldn't work right. Bill was busy looking over the gun's muzzle, flicking carelessly at bits of soot stuck between gears. "A-and Salem! We went to Salem that one time together! Come on, you have to remember Salem!" He begged.

"Sure. I remember Salem." Bill shrugged with an uncaring tone. That only seemed to make Mr. Fang frantic. My partner sighed tiredly, aiming the gun just ahead of him, right at Mr. Fang's chest.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Careful where you point that!" Mr. Fang jumped aside, the gun's barrel following.

"I'm always careful, friend. That's why I know you're about to die." Bill responded. "You know, I think I get why I don't remember you all that well." His tone was light, hand going to his pocket as he fished out a cigarette. He bit into it awkwardly, holding it between his molars without so much as sparing Mr. Fang a glance. He only looked at me, holding his focus before lowering it to his lighter, guiding the flame to his roll.

"You remember me, buddy! You do-." Bill cut in.

"Nah. You're an impersonator, I can tell. Whoever I used to know is-." He paused, using his hand to wave at the air as though to shoo away Mr. Fang's very existence. " -Gone . You're just playing pretend now. The suit. The tie. The ' Mr.' It's all dress up for you. You've got no real class." He sucked in a breath, taking the smoke with pleased lips before huffing it back out. "I'm not into that." His index flexed, resting lax against the trigger as he watched Mr. Fang with indifferent features.

"Come on, pal ! Don't shoot! We were buddies back then, come on! Don't shoot me! Please. "

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic ! You know bullets can't kill vampires." Bill's aim instantly went away, his arm bending up as he ceased his position. The look he held was something like comical relief, as though to say ' Gotcha, pal! Just joking around! '

Mr. Fang's knees buckled, only for him to fall to the ground completely limp and relieved. He was huffing now, kneeling before Bill as his eyes slid closed and he took in the moment of recollection like a gift. Oh yes, a simple bullet couldn't kill a vampire.

"But, sunlight can." He finished, reaiming his weapon. It was pointed at the old chandelier of a hundred candles, where the smallest cracks lay. The same beam of light I'd seen moments before spilled from it; a tiny stand still that sliced through the air peacefully. He fired at the crack.

At first, nothing happened; simply the smoking of Bill's gun rising to the ceiling with the appeal of grey children clambering for heaven. Mr. Fang was startled, getting to his feet after registering my partner's words. But, when nothing happened, he broke into a grin. That was when the crack grew. First chipping, then caving. It stretched along the roof like an endless stream of rivers diverging from one single stream. They were thick, fat and long, hitting each corner of the room with the revenge of clashing rivalries. Mr. Fang stepped away from the otrasity, hoping to shield himself from what was to come.

But, there was no escape. It crumbled above him, raining down in chunks of debris and insulation. Sunlight broke through, streaming in like a grandmother's warm kisses. He only shrieked, though. Tore at his clothes and replaced them above his head in an effort of self preservation. It didn't work. Soon, the shield was gone.

I wasn't sure what I'd expected from the situation. The movies had always displayed it like melting away. Turning to ash in an amazingly agonizing, torturous manner. Slow and painful, sizzling at the skin and bones as they only lied there, curled up and trying to cover themselves against the sun's assault.

I hadn't expected him to just *Poof* disappear. Like a magic trick. He was there one minute, gone the next. No fuss. No mess. Just-... Gone. A small pile of ashes sprinkled down where Mr. Fang had been standing before, lying out over the floor in the outlining of a man. It was almost beautiful. Bill leaned over it, shrugged at the mess, and flicked his cigarette into the pile.

[]

We sat in Bill's car, having stopped by a drive thru to grab a burger on our way home. I'd insisted on calling Mabel to let her know I was okay, but Bill assured me she knew I was. Of course she didn't, but she could stand to practice patience. Besides, I hadn't eaten all day . Bill made the rules: Burger now. Family later. I bit into as much as my mouth would allow.

"I hope this isn't a recurring thing with you." My partner tilted his head from me, puffing a long stream of smoke out his rolled down window. I'd begged him to if he demanded I eat in his car. "The whole 'getting kidnapped ' thing." I halted, delaying the next bite into my partially devoured meal to glare at him. Bill only grinned back with smooth, propper lips.

"I got kidnapped once. That doesn't mean anything." I wiggled a little in my seat, seeing a mother trail one of her children behind by the cuff of her sleeve. It'd be a shame if the little girl saw a grown man wearing this. I slouched down.

"I'm just making sure. They usually go for the twinks in these situations." I scoffed at him, slapping him lightly on the shoulder. At the moment, I wasn't allowed to outright hate him, on account of his saving me. But, I could sure as hell sneak in a thing or two.

"Oh, is that what you think of me?"

"Just keeping it honest, baby." He laughed, tapping his cigarette against the steering wheel. "You're everyone's ideal damsel in distress." Bill flicked at his burger's wrapping, but made no move to eat it or his fries. He didn't drink any of his soda, either. Come to think of it, I hardly ever saw him eat, whether it be a meal or snack. Maybe he was fueled by tobacco.

"Okay, first off I'm not a damsel , smartass. Don't even go there." I bent down, cramming the last bit of my sandwich away. It made a slight bulge in my cheek before being chewed up and swallowed.

"Second?" Bill mused, looking at the garbage bin we'd parked in front of. It was getting remarkably dark outside, and the light from the restaurant seemed to dim in some areas. They would probably lock up soon.

"Second off…" I began. I looked down at his lap, noting his untouched meal. "You gonna finish that?" There was no point being modest around him. He didn't care for courtesy or generosity, not even when directed his way. It was all very annoying to him, I could tell. Someone with his mind set would always hate the human race. Bill only hummed, looked to his lap, and grabbed it up.

"Have at it, ' pine tree.' " He offered, waving the burger in my face. I couldn't help but feel surprised by the name as it rolled off his tongue so easily. Almost everyone had called me that once I'd introduced myself to Mr. Fang, and it'd become a kind of status symbol for me. A name to pin to the face. But, hearing him say it… felt odd for some reason.

"Ha. Pine tree, huh? That my new name?" I kept it light, ignoring the ping of gut-wrenching fear that seemingly sprung out of nowhere. Bill's sudden cackle had me jumping in my seat.

"You bet your ass it is! I'll have it inscribed on your grave stone if I can!" A sudden shock ran down my spine, burying itself in the pit of my stomach to cultivate and sprout, only to shoot back up and ring my neck. That was a terrifying thought. "I mean, seriously! ' Pine tree?!' You couldn't think of anything else?"

The fear instantly died away.

"Well, I wasn't gonna tell him my real name." I defended myself.

"Don't go saying your name's really Dipper now, hun. That's a load of horse shit." Again, he leaned out the window, puffing out a bit of smoke. This time, he streamed it from the nostrils, all the while making perfect eye contact with an old woman walking her dog. She sped away from him.

"Who's to say it's not?"

"Your ID." He mused, sitting back down. "You want my fries, too? I'm not feeling fast food tonight." He held the red box up to me, shaking it side to side as the golden wands met my gaze.

"Seems to me you're never feeling any food. I hardly see you eat." I took it from his hands, quick to slide a single chip into my mouth. I hadn't eaten all day, after all.

"What I do with my mouth is my own business, pine tree."

"Again with the nickname." I rolled my eyes, casting them out the window. One of the employees was chucking a giant bag into the moldy green garbage can.

"It fits you." Bill put his hands out.

"It really doesn't."

"It really does." He protested, shoulder slanting as his body became closer to mine. He was wearing a navy blue suit today; black tie. Tiny gold lines sewn into the fabric. I could only imagine him getting dressed this morning.

'Hmm. Which color absolutely **screams **kidnapped partner?' I would have laughed. I didn't.

"That name means a lot more than you think it does."

"Makes it all the more special, sapling." His hand went out to pat my knee, but I flinched away reflexively. That didn't seem to deter him, instead petting at my arm hairs when he looked at me. "It sounds good on you. You should keep it."

I said nothing of his insistence, pulling my arm away when I sensed even a slight shifting upwards. Bill didn't care, going back to his half-burnt roll like it was the most precious thing to ever touch his lips.

"Mabel's probably worried sick." I mused.

"She's always worried about you, pine tree. Nothing new."

"How would you know? Has she said anything?" I placed another fry against my tongue, savoring the salt before pulling it in.

"Doesn't have to." Bill shrugged his shoulders, passing me a cocky grin when he spoke. "I can read her like an open book."

"Sure, you can. You're William Angle: The brightest man to ever jerk himself off." I paused, looking at his Pitt Cola. "You gonna drink that?" I pointed.

"Well, I am, aren't I? Have you met anyone smarter?" Bill asked, simultaneously handing me his untouched drink.

"I've met high school dropouts with more brain cells than you." I took a sip of the soda, my senses instantly overwhelmed by how thirsty I actually was. The throbbing at the back of my throat almost had me crying.

"Quality over quantity, pine tree. Those kids have as much brain power in their whole skull as I do in half a cell." I laughed at him, rolling my head against the car's headrest to see the self-centered asshole who'd bought me dinner.

"You ever been diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder?" I mused.

"Not yet."

"Mind if I do it for you?" I took another sip of the bubbly beverage in my cup, smiling all the while Bill cracked a smirk of his own.

"You're a real wonder sometimes, I'll give you that. I haven't been talked down to like this in a while."

"It's a specialty of mine."

"What? Being a brat ?" My partner chuckled, leaning in to face me more fully. The gesture wasn't alien at this point. He'd never been a fan of personal space around me to begin with. It never truly was a talk with Bill unless he crossed a line. The thought was almost charming, somehow.

"No, just being the boss ." Bill raised a brow at me, only to lean in just a little more. His elbow sat on the arm rest, body tilted forward as I did the same. He smiled at me smuggly.

"You're not the boss." Bill cooed, eye lidding as he stared blankly. "You're all about following the rules." I could smell his breath from here; the deep smolder of tobacco and burnt paper made my nose tingle, while the simple whiteness of his teeth gave me a different kind of chill.

"What's that supposed mean?" I furrowed my brow, but remained otherwise playful. I set my drink between my thighs, placing an elbow of my own on the arm rest. I leaned in.

"It means you like being controlled ." Was his response. It was something to be laughed at, I was sure; something to pick at me with. I was so easy to rile up, after all. Bill just wanted to tease me like he always did. He wanted to see me snarl. To growl. Show him just how arrogant I really was by dragging me down to his level; like he always did.

Something, tightly wound and knotted, came loose inside of me. Deep within the confinements of my belly, releasing the most wonderful sensation as it spread across my chest, between my fingers, and through the sturdy flesh of my calves. It was like a giant dam inside me was cracking. The tight faucets and tied hoses were being undone, and the build up behind it was overwhelmingly strong.

Didn't Bill have the nicest teeth? Oh my god, yes. He was just so fresh-looking all the time, even with the unmistakable scent of ash he always carried. Come to think of it, I didn't really mind that either. At least, not with him. Not attached to his shirt collar; his bow tie; his pants; belt buckle and shoes. It was quite pleasant, actually. So pleasant, I couldn't help leaning in again to get another whiff.

" And, what if I do? " I said something; I'm not sure what, only that I felt amazingly out of breath all of a sudden, looking into his single eye. I was always curious how he'd lost the other. Without thinking, I placed a single finger against his eyepatch, not entirely sure what I was doing, but sure I should be. The smoke engulfed me, each breath he took fanning out over my lips with a subtle tingle of moisture. He cocked a brow at me.

His eye shifted from my face only momentarially, looking into my lap. I wasn't sure what he saw, but when he did, the most wonderfully satisfied grin came over him. Bill looked back at me, a new found sharpness about the way he sat up, slanted his eye, and rolled a tongue over his lips. He pressed his forehead against mine.

"I'd like to see that." Bill slid a hand behind my neck, holding me there with searing determination. It hurt the way he pinched at my flesh, but I couldn't find within me the strength or desire to swat his hand away. "Why don't you show me?"

[]

Dipper registered a fuzziness about his mind. Somewhere deep inside a wooden box, forgotten and shoved to the very back of the closet; behind the fur coats and winter boats; the christmas wrapping; the secret magazines and family photos; was that tingle he always got. A thing that came out once every two or so months to stretch its legs, before slinking back in the old chest and entering a sleep like death. For months, it would stay there, ignored and denied. Around women. Children. Family members.

But, not Bill. No. It liked to peak its head out then.

The soft slide of Cipher's hand behind Dipper's neck sent a wave of heat dripping over his shoulders, and the feeling crept out like a child from time out. First, timid. Then, vengeful. For being rejected; excused. He would come back with a bang, stronger and more demanding this time; aware of the consequences, and more than willing to bear them at that moment.

Dipper paused, feeling the cruel warmth of his partner's fingertips as they flicked the baby curls sprouting at his nape. Bill was bold, twirling a large coil around his index finger, even tugging slightly when it became tightly wound against him. Dipper's breath hitched, subconsciously tilting his head as the small pain dinged along his senses. His eyes were closed, huffing at the plainness of the touch as well as the stimulation it gave him. It was so good, even being a simple nothing to others. He hadn't known ' touch' could be so warm.

Bill's lips met his first. Hot like the sidewalks of Piedmont, pressed against Dipper's, who felt his own were cold and chapping. For a moment, he tried to save himself the embarrassing shame fish-lips could get a person, curling them in just slightly against Bill's ever-soft arches. But, his partner was persistent; appreciative of the soft young skin he finally got around to tasting for a second time. To him and the newly achieved vessel he'd received, his pine tree had a wonderful flavor.

Dipper lifted his elbows from the arm rest, cautiously placing either hand on Bill's shoulders. He was slow about it, sliding his palms over the woolen design of his suit in hopes of catching sight of flesh. A sudden nip at his lower lip had him digging his nails into Bill's skin, yelping indignitively at the mild pain. Bill couldn't help but groan at the sensation.

His hands were all the more demanding, gripping Dipper's neck like something he owned. A thing he could bend and twist freely, all the while its owner was compliant and willing. Bill slid a hand down his partner's back, fingernails trailing along his exposed skin, loving the worthless shivers it invoked from the other party. It felt as though Bill would slide his hand over Dipper's ass, already at his lower back rubbing circles and teasing the zipper of his latex.

His hand shot up though, catching the smaller off guard when Bill dug into the forestry of Dipper's curls, yanking his head back savagely. His partner gasped, mouth opening just in time to feel Bill's snake-like tongue slide inside. He froze from the shock only momentarially before a groan was ripped from his throat. He wrapped his arms around Bill, hoping to bring him closer.

Wherever Bill's hand jerked, Dipper's head followed. A little to the left. To the right. Coming closer or popping off when he needed to catch his breath. Bill's breath. Dipper was fine to breath whenever, as long as he could continue tasting the wonderful burn of tobacco. A trail of saliva connected their tongues, something Dipper was quick about consuming, all the while staring his partner down with heated eyes.

" Jesus, kid ." Bill groaned, pulling his lips away with a vulgar smack. He couldn't hold back the lopsided smirk morphing his features. "When was the last time someone fed you?" A dark chuckle peppered the space between them, making Dipper both clench and sigh as he brought Bill impossibly closer.

"Never." Was all he could say, closing the distance between them once again. He delved into Bill's mouth, as though the two seconds of separation made up a lifetime without him. He couldn't stand how disconnected the kiss slowly became. The smooth lips; the slick tongues; the groping hands. It wasn't enough to cater to his ever growing need. His starvation.

He'd never been fed before.

" Bill." Dipper moaned between switching head positions, clutching his partner's shoulder and neck like a life preserver. It wasn't enough, though. The fabric felt like a barrier, sliding his hands over a finely tailored jacket, dress shirt, and bullet proof vest, all the while his nails dug into Bill's heated flesh. The skin of his throat. Strands of hair. Where he pressed his thumbs against Bill's wonderfully prominent cheekbones.

Wasn't enough.

Dipper found himself pressing his legs together, shot with the heavy tremble of his mounting erection. He should stop, he knew. In the back of his mind, he was still under control, and his brain chanted for him to stop, stop, stop. What are you doing, man?! What is this?! Quit it!

But, for all the messages shot from his frontal cortex to his fingertips, ordering them to halt all practices, he couldn't stand letting such a good thing go. Not like this. Not without a proper taste. Bill's hand slid from the back of his neck, getting a firm squeeze of Dipper's ass. He pressed into the open hand automatically, moving on autopilot as his heartbeat quickened. The entire situation had the appeal of falling down a length of steep, spiralling steps that plunged the party down too quickly to process. Too fast to stop or cling for reasoning, even if all it took was grabbing onto the railing to save yourself from the fall.

So, when Dipper broke from the kiss, trailing his lips along Bill's jawline, over his neck, down his chest only to stop at the fly of his pants, it was those steps that had led him there. The pounding of blood against his ear drums. The boiling sensation in his chest. The strained, painfully restricted erection caught tightly between his thighs. He laid an enthusiastic kiss against the peek of Bill's bulge.

Cipher hissed at the stimulation, an odd sensation rising from that one spot in his groin. It was wonderfully new to him, the toe curling rush that zapped over his very skin, leaving even the smallest of touches amplified. He couldn't help himself as he balled Dipper's hair tightly, pressing him down just a little more against the hooded tip of his penis. There was a kind of satisfaction in feeling his puppet moan into his lap.

"Is that good? Do you like that?" Bill would never admit how genuine the questions had been, unused to human anatomy. Why did these things have to feel so hot ? Were they supposed to? Nevertheless, Dipper ground his cheek into the erection, sliding a hand up his thigh before massaging his own dick beyond thick cotton. Bill sucked in a breath, head rolling back as he breathed out the smallest ' fuck.'

Dipper made his way to the metal zipper, sliding it down slowly. That seemed to dash any doubts he had on the matter, watching the proud, thick tower sheathed in black boxers rise before him. He let out a strained huff, lips attacking the underside of Bill's clothed dick while his hands cupped him at the base, stroking him with his forefingers.

It didn't take long for the boxers to be pulled down as well, sliding back to showcase Bill's fully erect cock throb in Dipper's slender fingers. And, in that instance of suspense; finally reaching the point of no return as he felt the rhythmic beat of Bill's heart through every vein that decorated his length; he looked up at the man.

Sharp, dangerous features watched him with animalistic hungar. He was waiting for Dipper to get on with it. Succumb to the humiliation of providing himself freely to the same man he couldn't stand, like it was required in some form or other. Was it worth his pride? Did he want it that badly?

A strong tug at his curls made up his mind.

Dipper's pink tongue tested a small poke at the head. It was salty, a single bead of precum pebbling at the tip where he leaned in, tasted the bodily fluid, and shivered. He kept the head there for a moment, still just outside of his mouth, breathing and stroking and tasting as he looked up at Bill staring back at him with a grin. The hand in his hair slowly led him down, encouraging Dipper to take it in.

He did, wrapping his tongue around its hot pink tip to clean up the clear dripping. His eagerness was instantly rewarded by a smug groan from above, followed by his head being lifted and lowered manually. It stung; the burning push and pull of hairs on his scalp, tugged and yanked whenever Bill forced his head down just a little more.

Dipper tried his best to keep up with the pace of his partner's hand, sliding his tongue over whatever came into his mouth. Mainly the tip. A little bit of the length, but there was so much of it, he couldn't imagine downing the whole thing. Not on his first time, at least.

A sudden jerk of Bill's hips had him gagging softly, bits of saliva creeping from the corners of his lips while his eyes pricked with tears. His face was red now, neck growing hot against the continual assault of his nape, as well as the overwhelming embarrassment he felt. But, for all the shame shooting through the underside of his stomach, he couldn't release the large length. It was something completely new to him. Unmarked territory he'd never before allowed himself to indulge in. And, by the way Bill shifted to reangle himself, Dipper wasn't half bad.

Another shove down, this one much farther than the last dozen, forced his eyes up as he choked harshly around Bill's cock. It hit the back of his throat even as Dipper trained himself to relax, and it made him tighten up. In a squirming fit, trying his hardest not to bite down, he willed himself up away from the intrusion, shooting Bill an annoyed glance. He only smiled back, chuckling darkly as his hand slid from Dipper's hair to grip his ass.

" What?" Bill asked innocently, other hand going to lift his puppet's chin up. The pout on Dipper's face was perfect for his already sorring mood.

"Don't push so hard." Dipper shot at him.

"Or what? You gonna bite me?"

"I might."

"You won't. This is the only part of me you like ." Bill cooed, giving his ass another squeeze. That was when he noted the pink little head sticking out of Dipper's own zipper, held loosely between his partner's free hand. Bill was flattered to say the least, seeing just how happy he'd made the boy, so much so that he couldn't even help touching himself. He swung his hand around Dipper's front, caressing his partner's untended to 'friend'. It wasn't big per say, but it had a charm about it. Cute. Well-shaped. Not too short. Not too large. Virtually hairless at the base, and wonderfully responsive. A single touch had Dipper almost screaming as he bit his lip, maintaining his cold glare.

"Fu-ck you." Dipper said.

"My pleasure." Bill leaned in, getting a sloppy taste of what clung to Dipper's bottom lip. Bill sensed Dipper's hand jerk up slowly, holding himself as he tried relieving some of the tension he'd built up within his ignored piece. A smile spread over Bill's lips. After a few short breaths, teeth sinking into soft peddley lips, Dipper soon found himself craving the original attention he'd been giving his partner. As low of him as it seemed, he shoved his pride away as a means of chasing after pleasure. Bill's.

His lips wrapped around the tip once more, free to move as they'd wish without Bill's hand guiding them. It was almost scary trying to blow without Cipher's hand to direct him. He quickly lost his inhibitions as the flavor overpowered his senses. It didn't necessarily taste good. On the contrary, it was bitter; a strange texture that rolled over his tongue like marble beads, flowing to the back of his throat and dribbling undignified down his lips. Something about the skin, though. It was the silk-soft skin clasped around his gaping mouth that kept him entertained, and more than aroused.

He let go of it with a vulgar pop, a fat string of saliva connecting the hot tip to his drooling chin. Dipper didn't seem to notice, growing confident as he abandoned the head in exchange for the underside of Bill's dick. He pressed against the base, slowing gliding his tongue upwards before once again engulfing Bill's cock with a swirl. All the while looking Cipher dead in the eye. What could make this scene more perfect?

Bill lit a smoke.

He sighed, tilting his head back as he watched his puppet go to work. Bobbing sloppily, cheek bulging periodically as Dipper tested out new techniques. Turning his head. Stroking what couldn't fit down his throat. The thick, clear lines of spit sliding down his shaft. It was all too wonderful to watch, Bill thought as he took a heavy drag. He blew it out over Dipper's lifting head, loving the muffled groans of protest his partner choked against his cock.

Bill wasn't sure how much longer he'd last, looking into Dipper's pretty little doe eyes as they rolled up at him, meek yet strangely proud of the whole situation. He drew on his cigarette, just barely catching himself before a deep moan slipped out. Dipper started sucking, cheeks hollowed as he grew used to Bill's impressive length. He could get a little over half way down now, airways opening up as the tip repeatedly entered and exited freely. Bill felt the tremble of moans around his cock, looking down to see Dipper's free hand placed between his own legs, tending to his leaking organ.

There was a strain in his throat, like trying to suck in air that wasn't there. Dipper paused, lips still curled around Bill's throbbing dick, breathing heavily as yet another groan cut through him. He bobbed his head in sync with how quickly he jerked himself off, feeling a massive wave of heat build inside of him. He grew closer with every second, tone rising in pitch as he met Bill's gaze, still sucking and bobbing, animalistic and almost misplaced with such a prideful grin. His partner replaced his hand behind Dipper's head, willing him to speed up.

Dipper tensed, eyes shutting, muscles hardening as he wailed tightly around the dripping length shoved deep within his throat. He released with overwhelming satisfaction, hot ropes of white come shooting out to coat his hand and the knee of his pants. His cries were choppy, cut in pieces as Bill continued entering and exiting Dipper's mouth freely. And, it was that: The submissive tone of his pine tree being used, and getting off to being used, that had him coming undone. He cursed sharply, only to pulse over Dipper's tongue, forcing a flood into his cavern while the excess leaked from his lips to dangle at the chin.

Bill stubbed out his cigarette.


	27. Confusion

Something that had always annoyed me was the music choice; Hard rock. Around every corner of Gravity Falls' notorious bar ' Skull Fracture' was the blaring bass of shredded guitars. Not that I necessarily disliked the genre, but it was an inconvenience being crammed next to a speaker when having a slurred debate with your gal pal on the Holographic theory. She was already tuning me out. The music only aided in her disrespect.

It was far louder tonight, even when I sat away from the dance floor, huddled in the newly furnished booth Pacifica's reserved for us. She hated sitting at the bar; hated who took a seat next to her; asked for her number; cupped a feel. They always ended up drenched in whatever had been in her glass, wobbling away hissing and cursing as they clutched their bruised groins. There wasn't much she couldn't handle on her own, but some things were worth avoiding at all costs. With a wave of her purse -a snap of the fingers- she'd put in place orders to build a private island of drinks and couch cushions for her and whoever she liked, which was a very short list of people.

I was surprised to be on it.

We had a rule not to get smashed before one or the other showed up. Pacifica couldn't stand being around drunk people when sober. It was one of those things snobbish folk were taught to piss about, and she couldn't seem to shake the mindset. I thought it was a stupid thing to complain about. Still, we'd always held true to the pack for the most part, and it wasn't so difficult holding off on the hard stuff when your drinking buddy wasn't around.

It was different tonight. With the music blaring, the mouths moving, the men dancing, I couldn't wait for a round of brandy and lemon juice. I'd taken the liberty of ordering a soft shot of Washington apple to take the edge off my nerves, but it'd only made me antsie when re-reading the menu options:

Red Snapper.

Purple hooter.

Lemon drop.

Kamikaze.

**Blowjob-.**

Who the fuck names these drinks?

I downed the shot, whipping out my phone to check the time; a quarter to ten. She was late as always, probably doing, wiping away, and redoing her mascara for the hundredth time. I bounced my leg impatiently, rubbing circles around the pedestal table like a mini race track. My eyes shifted towards a far corner of the room where one of the larger men stood seven feet from a dartboard. Dagger in hand, twirling it carefully between thick wide fingers, the brawny male stroked his beard once, flung the metal, and stuck slender silver threw a bullseye.

He had nice skin.

I sucked in a flaming breath, gaze instantly shooting from him to trace the intricate patterning of my seat cushion. Squares. Triangles. Red. Blue. I put it all away, memorizing every detail until my mind was filled with nothing but useless information.

Calm down, Dipper. Calm down. You can fix this. This can all be fixed. If you just think about it critically.

The sharp click of heels sliced through a high guitar solo in E major, forcing my ears to perk up. I instantly let out a sigh of relief, looking over my shoulder as Pacifica made her much anticipated journey towards me. She saw me looking, waved casually, and dipped between the bears banging their chests together. And, in that moment of contrast (her bleached almost-white hair rolling over thin tan shoulders, sheathed in a deep shade of purple snapped tightly around her design, dancing away from the sweating, dirty biker gangs jonesing for their umpteenth beer), I couldn't help feeling unbearably jealous of her.

Not for her money or wealth. Simply for the underlying understanding of one's self. You could tell from the way she posed herself where she was, and where she planned on going. She did what she wanted, said how she felt, and spoke without regret. And, even though I'd practiced the habit for years, something inside me rung with an undeniable sense of failure. She was honest with herself. She'd found herself easily, even when misguided in her adolescence by overbearing parents.

But, I was still very lost.

That was why we came here, I believed. Maybe it was a twisted way of her helping me out of the labyrinth each night with drinks and music. Maybe she just wanted a good time, and I was most conveniently free every weekend. Either way, she was here. Smiling, waving, and sliding past large figures of muscle. She didn't sit down right away, but leaned herself over the couch to get a good look at me.

"You're not wearing the shirt I gave you." Pacifca said, playfully flicking my forehead. I willed a laugh, though the tightness of my throat kept me on edge.

"Sequin really isn't my thing."

"Oh, but latex is ?" She joked. I paused, eyes hardening, only to slide from her with a familiar glint of shame.

"...Let's change the subject." My tone was forward. Not demanding exactly, but offering a hand without real consent. I felt soft all over; limp, without control of my own limbs. It was by muscle memory alone that I turned from her, examined my empty shot glass, and flipped it on its face. Pacifica only snorted at me, moving around to seat herself on the cushions. She wasn't so keen to tell the difference between my usual pouting, overanalyzed self and the crippling, relentless push of anxious build that formed along my features. She slid close to me.

Tonight is the night I die.

"What's got you all butt-hurt, prince?" Pacifica leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, looking at my souring face. A smile crept over her as she lifted a finger to flick at my nose. "Still fighting with Wendy?" She asked casually.

"We're not fighting, Paz."

"Just on a break."

" No. It's just-. Things are awkward, you know?" I explained with a lopsided push in my gut. Sighing, I rode a hand through my hair, grabbing at a curl as I twisted it nervously. Things were a lot more than just awkward. They were different. Bad-different.

"What isn't awkward with you?" Pacifica laughed, slapping my leg. The feeling was a bit grounding. Friendly. A kind of contact I hadn't been getting a lot of for the past week or so. Still, I frowned at her, rubbing the spot she hit me at like a stinging wound.

"Right, right. I forgot. Thanks for the reminder."

"No prob." Pacifica hummed, crossing her legs before leaning over to pick up my single shot, emptied of its content. "How much have you had so far?"

"Just the one." I shrugged, looking at the small glass almost guiltily.

" Good. You know I hate hanging with drunkards."

"How classy of you." I tried my hand at a small side-smile. The corners of my mouth twitched a bit, only to falter like buckling knees into a grimace. She gave me a concerned look, but said nothing. Instead, Pacifica stood from her seat, offered me a hand, and looked to the bar.

"Not for long. Come on; let's get blasted ." I felt cold against her warm hand, the slight flinch of her fingers not going unnoticed by any means as she dragged me along. We ducked around a table of lumbering gents who's veins popped out against their shoulders and foreheads, pushing themselves over the counter in a game of arm wrestling. The dull wisp of musk made me light headed, ever when basically sober.

"A pink lady." She led us to the bar, squeezing between the two black-beards with bandanas around their heads, hunched over large glasses with eyes just short of soulless. I tried not to rub shoulders with the man to my left; large black shades, a face tattoo, dark skin and gold rings clasped around each finger. His jawline was nice.

"Irish car bomb." I told the bartender with jaded features. He nodded at me, turning away as he jiggled his cocktail shaker, all the while his blond ponytail quaked along tight back muscles and shoulders. My gaze shot away instantly, looking over the generic design of a round coaster; Some mountainous scene of Berchtesgaden, Bavaria. Snow. Trees. Sky. Clouds. I could feel myself loosen up just slightly as the man clanked my drink down moments later, not even sparing me a glance.

It's alright. It's okay. Everything's fine. Just sink away, pain. Sink away into my drink.

I clasped my cup in hand, as well as the shot of irish cream I'd been provided, trailing Pacifica behind with the enhanced caution of a bluffed game of poker. My arms stayed close to my chest, holding the drinks with shaking hands. I could feel my fingers grow wet.

When we sat back down, Pacifica quickly recollected herself as she rubbed away the creasing of her dress. Her hand cradled the pink cocktail like fine wine, the glass's neck kept between her middle and ring finger. She settled in, taking a sip before addressing me.

"You hear what happened to Robbie?" Pacifica asked, lifting her elbow to rest on the back cushion.

"No, but I'll bet you did." I picked up my shot of cream, looking it over like some complex scribe. Irish car bombs were a tricky drink, because they were meant to go down almost instantly. More like frat-type liquor. A party drink; something I didn't feel like doing in the slightest. But, it was a quick escape.

"Tambry went in for a checkup over some vomiting Tuesday. Said she'd been feeling nauseated and sick for the past month or so. Turns out it was morning sickness." My hand holding the shot drifted over a pint of black scout, only to be dumped into the cup. It fizzed up instantly, and I was pleasantly surprised at how motivated I became to drink the whole thing straight. It was swallowed without breath or rest. I wiped my hand over my lips, mildly proud of the empty shot and beer glass in my hand.

"Damn. Tragic." I hiccuped just a little.

"Yeah, no kidding. Robbie's gonna have his hands full with a kid around the place."

"Sure, sure. That's crazy." I put the cup down, shivering at the heavy clink of thick glass against smooth pine wood.

"Can you imagine what it's gonna look like when they finally pop it out? Some ungodly gothic-emo hybrid. Like the second coming of Christ." Pacifica giggled a little, swirling her drink around the cup before finishing it off with a sophisticated slurp. She demanded I refer to everything she did that was otherwise ungraceful or outright piggish as either sophisticated, advanced, or simply too high-class for others to understand.

"Sounds like a lot of stress." I willed my voice from some place far away, outside of this realm of understanding and orthodoxed thinking, simply focused on keeping my eyes forward, away from the men.

"You're telling me. Can't imagine what's going through their heads right now." She put her drink down, tisking at the whole situation like it was some horrible disaster.

In all honesty, it sounded kind of amazing. The idea of finding someone you loved with your full capacity; starting a family together; Spending your lives in each other's presence. A part of me wanted that for myself. A piece that was much older, and much more ready for the experience, but all the same eager to get started. And, I already had someone I could call mine.

I had someone willing to stick by my side to death do us part. Yet, inside me grew the mounting disbelief that I would ever find a person to care for; whose face I could willingly wake up to each morning. A part of me whispered, very quietly, that who I was and who I tried to be were conflicting with that dream. But, wasn't I happy? Didn't I love Wendy? I certainly said I did, and everyone in town could easily look at us and go, ' Now, isn't that a happy couple?' I told those that approached us just how grateful I was to have found her, because she was so wonderful. So pretty. So fun. So cool.

Were those things to fall in love over?

"Me neither. Bet they're having a rough time." My head tilted a little, and I could feel the liquor creep its way up my veins into my brain. I was ready for a second drink, which I got without registering the journey. Only that Pacifica bought herself another cocktail, and I had something yellow.

"You think he'll stick around?" She asked, biting into a bit of cherry on the toothpick in her drink. I shrugged at her.

"He's an adult." And, that seemed to say all I felt. Because, I really didn't give a shit, downing my second drink as quickly as the first, trying not to notice the build of cologne around my nostrils. Instead, I would only allow myself the indulgence of bitter alcohol, hard and burning down my throat. Pacifica gaped at me just slightly when I sat up, ready to go in for a third round.

"Whoa, chill out freakazoid. I haven't even touched mine." She protested, snagging me by the cuff of my sleeve. I groaned, rolling my eyes before plopping back down.

"I'm just getting a shot."

"No, you're just getting alcohol poisoning. Slow down for a sec, will you? The drinks are going straight to your brain, genius." Her nail tapped against my temple, strengthening whatever point she thought she'd made. I only sighed, pouting as my hand went to shoo hers away.

"I know. Thanks, yeah." My head lowered a little, fingers rolling over my eyelids with discontent. I could feel my mind tense, flex, and release in periodic spasms of stress, even with the two drinks that tried to massage the tightness away. "I know." I repeated, rotating my head in my palms.

Maybe this was a bad idea.

Pacifica was silent beside me, perhaps waiting for me to lift my head. I didn't, afraid the first pair of eyes I'd make contact with would be slitted black with a cheshire grin. An unbearable strain of want clenched around my stomach, forcing my toes to curl. The recurrent waves of sooth from my tequila sunrise halted the assault for a short time; just enough to register the small hand placed on my shoulder.

"Alright, no." Pacifica scoffed. "Not funny, loser. You're bumming me out." I lifted my head just barely, catching a glimpse of her lips set in a perpetual scowl. She proposed the slightest portion of concern underneath. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. Just-. Just overworked, I guess."

"Bullshit. You're always overworked."

"Well, now I'm extra overworked, okay?" I felt a film of sass wrap around my voice, and I was almost certain I couldn't fight it. Pacifica didn't seem fazed by the assault, only smiling coyly from my response.

"Dipper, I've got connections with nineteen surveillance companies in the county. Trust me, you don't wanna do this." Her eyes were level, but testing. She wanted to see if I would ever doubt her words. How could I, though? She was Pacifica Northwest after all; if she wanted photo evidence, new material for gossip, or horrible black mail, she could get it with the snap of a finger. That was just a taste of how far she'd go for some good tea.

I groaned into my hands, hiding my face in mounting shame as a sharp heat burned across my cheeks. A small part of me wanted to console in her; to pour out every stupid detail of that very night. How Bill had looked. How he'd tasted. And, just how confusing the whole situation was. Hell, I hadn't even crossed the line with Wendy, but when this half-cocked asshole shows up and I'm all game? It gave me a headache just thinking about it.

There was a tiny voice in me. A small nobody that perched on the edge of my consciousness, cooing safely that I should tell her. I should let her in on the secret. A very, very tiny voice, barely audible over the blaring sirens of anxiety, flashing red on high alarm. The voices that screamed for me to run, dye my hair, change my name; get the fuck out of this place. But, she'd find me anyways.

She always did.

"... Look. " I lifted my head, staring into her eyes sternly. "What I'm about to tell you does not. Leave. This. Room. You got that?" I slapped the table for emphasis, brows furrowing with dark certainty. Pacifica only grinned back, leaning away as she seated herself against the cushions with an untamable smugness. Legs crossed, eyes trained, she took a victory sip of her drink.

"Got it." She said. I looked at her more closely.

"I'm serious, Paz. Not a word."

"I heard you the first time, dork." She paused, taking yet another drink before gesturing for me to continue. "Go off." The hint of a smile wisped across her lips as she watched me. Not eager, but intrigued. I shuffled in my seat, trying to relieve the pent of strain building in my chest, an ocean of words jumbling about but not connecting perfectly. Nothing would connect just right. Ever.

"I really fucked up." I sighed simply, once again burying myself into my palms. It didn't last long, feeling Pacifica pat my back anxiously, all the while sighing and groaning at my pathetic demeanor.

"Oh my god ! Spit it out already, will you?" She put a hand under my chin, lifting my head to meet her icy-blue gaze. "I mean, come on. You're Dipper Pines for christ sake! Your whole existence is embarrassing. No need to be modest now." She waved her hand through the air, rolling her eyes before pressing her lips to the glass once again. "Just tell me. I promise I won't judge." Her head tilted back, trying to suck down the remainder of what lay in her cup.

I was lucky to have a friend like her, I guess. Stone cold. Calculated. Not easily fazed when faced with these kinds of situations, having heard even the deepest dishes. And, looking at her and the underlying disinterest she held for my inner thoughts was comforting in a way. Chances were she didn't actually care; just wanted to air out the dirty laundry so we could finally enjoy our night. That was a good enough reason to just say it, right? I took a heavy, shaken breath, looking at her craned neck when I spoke.

"I gave Bill a blowjob."

Pacifica's head shot forward, hand placed over her mouth as she choked uncontrollably on the brutal martini. She balled up a fist, hacking relentlessly as her face grew red from the strain. Her eyes watered up at the corners, and when she opened them to look at me for only a moment, pure shock coasted along her features. She made contact with me, only to blink away the tears and snap her eyes shut at the cocktail's burn. Pacifica hunched forward, cradling her head between her knees as the coughing fits only grew worse.

"You-!" She began, cut off by yet another wave. "Y-you **w-ha-t **?!" Her head tilted up just barely to peer at the beyond-ashamed face looking down at her. I was joking, right? I couldn't be serious. There was no way I'd actually do that. Not in a million years. But, of course. I was Dipper Pines. I didn't… Do that. At least not in her mind. My face was scorching.

I put an awkward hand on her shoulder, not sure whether to rub her back or let her be as her body convulsed. The hacking continued for what felt like hours, though it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. After most of the choking subsided, and she's lifted her face enough to see the wet trails from where she'd teared up, I'd already rebuilt my wall of regret and anxiety.

Alright. Bad reaction. Horrible , actually. Was I supposed to expect this every time?

" Dipper… " All previous defenses were down on her; the snobby exterior; the smug demeanor; the disinterest. Gone. What remained was something of distorted interpretation. Perhaps what alien users would consider a kind of humanity. Genuine care. A mountain of concern and confusion. In that moment, and that moment alone, Pacifica Northwest looked like a goddamn human being.

"I-... Jesus, Paz! I don't know. It's just-. It just sort of happened, alright?" I grew defensive before she even opened her mouth. Her expression said it all. It was an absolute bombshell of information.

"God-. Dipper, this is crazy . You know that?" Her eyes shifted from me, examining the empty glass in hand, as though to verify she was sober enough to even have this conversation. Was this real? Is this really what she's hearing? "When? Why ? Holy shit, does Wendy know about this-?"

" No ! And, I plan on keeping it that way." I rushed for my answer before the question could even process itself. Anything Wendy-related was prohibited from coming into contact with Bill ever again.

"What? But-. But, aren't you gonna tell her?" Pacifica seemed a little confused, brows furrowing when she shifted her gaze from me. I mirrored a similar expression.

"What am I supposed to say?"

"That you're gay. " It was my turn to choke now, but I'd already emptied the glass. I took a sharp breath, conflicted between a gasp and the most inhuman scream ever to hit my system. They clashed on the way up, building against my throat, only to strangle each other in my mouth, leaving me completely silent instead. I looked at her with glossy eyes, jaw hanging wide in disbelief. I could've laughed at the absurdity.

"I'm not gay !" I croaked, lurching back in. I held my hands up in protest, a drop of sweat sliding down my temple after hearing my own voice. I sounded defensive.

"Hey, Dipper ." Pacifica's voice became uncharacteristically sweet as she leaned in to comfort me, grabbing my hand and petting the back like a small animal's. "It's okay. We've all been joking about it behind your back if it makes you feel any better." Her hands were smooth, rhythmically sliding over my knuckles. She smiled at me with kind eyes, as though I deserved pity of some sort. My hand slipped from her grasp in an instance, a new found resentment replacing some of my embarrassment.

"Why in the fuck would that make me feel better ?" I shot, leaning away from her touch. Pacifica was respectful of my choice in distance, pulling back to sit up straight and continue her soft smiling.

"Well, now it won't be so hard to come out-."

" **I'm not fucking gay** !" A few men turned around to peer at me from the pool table, one of which had bent himself halfway to reach the white cue ball wedged between an 'eight' and a 'three.'

"Okay, well-. Bi, then."

"Not bi, Pacifica."

"Pan?"

"Nope."

"Alright. Demi-."

"Woman, I'm straight." The outright redness of my cheeks must have been a sight to see. I couldn't help but notice the eyes shifting towards me now. Judging me. Perhaps scoping me out. Definitely gossiping.

"Um… No, you're not." Pacifica said simply, her approachable demeanor slowly chipping away like a cocoon, replaced with her usual shit-personality.

" Yes , I am."

"Dude." She shot her hands up in mild frustration, though the corners of her lips continued their rise upwards. "You sucked dick ." She laughed.

" Shut up ." I hissed, more cautious than ever to keep our voices down. I squeezed up against her so we wouldn't have to raise our voices. "It wasn't like that."

"Oh? And what was it like, exactly?"

"Like nothing, okay? It was stupid and weird and I didn't enjoy it at all . I don't even know why I did it."

"Because you like-." I cut her off with a growl, giving her a cold look.

"I don't! I was just-." I looked to my empty glass for inspiration. "Drunk. I was really drunk, and my head wasn't working right."

"Ah, I see. The old ' too many drinks' gag. Yes, yes. Of course." Pacifica nodded like she understood everything now. "I've used that move a few times myself."

"I was!" I countered. She didn't seem to hear me, though.

"Where were you two?"

"A restaurant." I replied.

"You gave him head in one of the booths ?!" She gasped, eyes gleaming intently.

"The car, Paz! Jesus, the car !" I couldn't contain my voice completely, even with a silencer snapped on tight. A few more heads turned, but remained otherwise disinterested in our conversation. "We were parked outside a drive thru." I shrugged.

"In a car?"

"Yes, in a car."

"He drove you?"

"That's right."

Pacifica paused, humming at my confirmation, hand groping her chin thoughtfully. She looked to her lap in concentration, possible debate, and overall confusion. After a moment of thinking, a lightness came over her features, and she was lifting her head to look at me. The smile on her face was something to rival Mabel's.

"Oh, and I assume the booze just materialized out of nowhere, then?" A coldness shot through my veins. Fuck. Fuck . **Fuck **. There wasn't an easy out for that, and I couldn't say we'd been driving under the influence. We were cops after all.

"Paz, stop-."

"You were sober ." She smiled confidently, stabbing her finger into my chest like a conviction. It wasn't a laugh that passed her lips, but more like a victorious ' ha'! Looking into my eyes, finger rhythmically tapping me, it seemed as though she's caught herself a special prize.

A gay friend.

"Will you quit it already? I told you I'm not." I tried to keep my voice even, but it only broke into pieces near the end. Pacifica shook her head, tisking. It was like my very existence passed right through her.

"Are you gonna tell Wendy?" She repeated the question, this time with her classically pompous attitude. I couldn't bear keeping this argument up, and so only sides, lowered my head, and combed a hand through my hair.

"I don't wanna tell anyone. It's not like I'm gonna do it again, anyways." There it was: the justification. I'd tried so hard to keep it down, but it just kept bubbling up. I wanted to excuse myself. I wanted to levy the situation from my shoulders with the promise of repentance. It wouldn't happen again. No. Never. That was a one-time thing; not worth destroying a perfect relationship over. Sure, we were on the rocks now , but you needed the bad times in order to appreciate the good. Things would be okay after a few more weeks. A month at most.

But, news like this ?

It could ruin everything.

"What about Mabel? Think she can keep it in?" I didn't bother answering. We both knew that response. She couldn't keep her lips shut for shit. After a moment of silence, Pacifica let out a breath.

"What are you gonna do about Bill? Don't you two share an office or whatever?"

There was a thought. Like I hadn't killed myself over it already, writing out plans and diagrams on how to approach him after making a complete whore out of myself. Shit, I could already see the satisfied look on his face. I felt like such a moron, remembering how I'd acted in front of him. I was too damn eager; he must have noticed. It was so easy to just move me around. I took orders like a puppy, and it only pleased me when he bossed me around. Fuck. It fucking pleased me.

I looked him right in the eye, too. If there was anything to be embarrassed about, it was that single act that plagued me the most. No modesty. Not an ounce of dignity left. As if to say, ' Why should I be ashamed? I'm your toy, aren't I?' I almost slapped myself in the face, an overwhelming flood of self-loathing replacing 12 pints of blood. I'd given myself to him. And, it'd felt so natural .

Something was seriously wrong.

"Let's get another drink." I replied dryly, ignoring her question as I lifted myself with a single string of confidence. Not in my relationship with Wendy, or how I would approach Bill this upcoming Monday, or even in what had brought on this onslaught of impulsive curiosity; perhaps stress. Maybe confusion. It didn't matter. Of all the things I'd considered tonight, only one thought stuck, and it made perfect sense in my mind.

A gin and tonic would hit the spot right now.


	28. Today, I Die

Monday came riding along a tidal wave of anxiety; a hot shower to soothe my nerves did little in the end. The walls of my bedroom appeared monochromatic as I stood, rolling a towel over my damp hair and shoulders. It had a greyness about it; washed out blues and dirty whites that simply sat there, peeled off or stained with a low energy. And, looking at the small mirror perched atop my dresser, a similar sensation climbed along my features. A chill seeping through my cheek muscles, the pastel of my lips, the edges of my flesh; what is this feeling ?

There had been a comparable emotion long ago, back in my youth. The foreboding pressure of going up against a greater evil; of deciding on personal survival. It was a battle to the death back then. Still, as I pulled black pants up my hips, zipping and buttoning the poliester to my form, an almost equally intense sensation rode through my spine. It is today, I thought to myself. A milestone, still cloaked in unsurity, but definite in its effects on my life.

Today, I die.

A ding from my phone barely registered, but all the more threw me when I looked down at the screen: Pacifica.

P: hey nerd r u gonna do it tday?

I was quick about shutting my device off.

No. Not today. Not ever. This was something far harder; to act as though nothing had ever happened. I'd trained my face for years. There was little that got past me these days, whether it be worry or regret or despair. I relaxed the grimace tingling at my lips, forcing my brow to soften and nose to unwrinkle. But, my eyes. They wavered in and out of neutrality, the calm expression of indifference easily overshadowed by mounting fear. I blinked twice, only to sense the regrettable burn of tears welling up. My throat tightened. My chin pruned.

I pat myself sharply on the cheeks, cooing words of encouragement as I tilted my head up, batting my lashes to abolish each little cry of distress.

This isn't it, Pines. This is you; the only person to control this. Only you can control this.

I set my undone tie around my shoulders, walking out into the kitchen. Mabel was already there, humming as her feet apple jacked from the fridge to the counter, where a large bowl of white froth was displayed. I looked at the container curiously, although it hardly distracted me.

"What's this?" I reached over the isle, placing a single finger on the rim of the blue bowl covered in plastic wrap.

"Icing!" Mabel cheered, smiling with the glow of a star. She toar away the wrapping, pulled out a package of glitter, and dumped the purple content in the bowl. " I'm making a cake!" She mixed the shining dust into white cream with a wooden spoon.

"Why?" Mabel had always been a horrible cook; there was no nice way of saying it. There had been a time in her life- forth or fifth grade- when she was obsessed with baking. She'd been out of bed by five, serving up rhinestone waffles by seven, and riding in the passenger seat with dad as he drove me to the ER by eight. Stomach cramps. Nausea. Vomiting. Common symptoms of food poisoning.

It never seemed to deter her, though; only mom's eventual scolding could crush her dreams. And, when she did, Mabel swore to never bake again, which was a total lie. Still, she grew an understanding of taste and disgust; a kind of bashfulness bloomed under her chin, rising to her cheeks a red blush when people asked who cooked at home. And she, very unlike her, would reply with reserved features, ' My brother.'

So, it was with numb interest I wondered why the oven was hot, the icing was made, and her apron was on. Mabel only giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear before pulling the charred black cake out of the oven.

"I'm asking out someone special~." The brick of half-risen batter was placed next to her monstrous frosting, where a wooden spoon was dipped in, scooping up mounds of gritty purple before being plopped over the cake and coated.

"Oh." I replied dumbly. The interest dissolved immediately, watching clumped up waves of lavender smear over charcoal. "Good luck." My eyes were focused on a single bubble in the bowl of frosting; a cluster of purple glitter, mashed up and hard as rock, like a landmine exploding in someone's mouth once they bite into it. I took the liberty of flicking it out with the back of my nail.

"No luck needed, bro-bro! This one's in the bag, especially with a treat like this ! How could he resist?" She preened, rotating the dish to lather a generous amount of icing along the cake's round corners. It was a small, dry little thing with cracks and bubbles breaking along the surface like the abused skin of a white man's nose under sunlight. Mabel looked immensely proud, humming an unorthodox tune, swaying her hips to silent music.

"Where'd you find the recipe?" I pulled out my phone once, only to remember why the screen was black, and quickly shoved it away again. Mabel laughed at me.

"Oh, Dipper. Who needs a recipe when you've got love on your side?"

"A chef." Mabel ignored me, humming louder than before as she smoothed her spoon over the last bit of black showing.

"Hand me that bag?" She asked, pointing to the dinner table behind me. A Malwart bag had been tossed over the edge of one of the chairs, an array of colorful sticks pressing against partially-transparent plastic. I reached for it, pulled it from the seat, and slung it her way to be caught.

"What's in it?" I questioned apathetically, playing with the crease of my unmade tie.

"An icing writer." Mabel replied, pulling what looked like a pack of markers from the bag. A beam passed along her features as she opened the container and picked out a pink stick. She removed the tip with practiced hands, squeezing at the base until salmon-rose goop squirted onto the cake. " Woops !" She laughed, easing her grip.

"What are you writing on it?"

"What I always write!" Mabel replied, already tracing out square check boxes, followed by a question and the cornering responses she allowed:

Do you like me?

Yes.

Definitely.

Absolutely.

"You ever think about changing that up?" A tiny dot of icing dabbed against my hand where I'd rested it. I looked at the inconvenience, eyes slanting, examining it with the developed expression of curiosity. I almost had the balls to test a taste, only for better judgement to catch me. I dragged the dirtied finger across the isle's surface, whipping the purple goo away.

"No way! I got my first boyfriend with that phrase!" She finished her freakish icing of hearts and little puppy paws and rainbows around the cake, picking it up by the tray in self-satisfaction. "And, who knows? Might meet my husband with it~." Mabel shimmied playfully, tossing me a grin. I tried avoiding her gaze, an odd blow of pain pinching my gut when I looked at her.

Today, I die.

The car ride was silent, aside from Mabel's continual humming and giggling as she watched the shops of Gravity Falls pass her by. Inside my head, just outside the confinements of my brain, I felt the stern tapping of glass against defenseless flesh; the sensation refused to let up.

"Mind driving me to work with you today?" Her words were washed up, plain and dull when compared to the shrill ticking marked along my skull. I broke out in a sweat, counting within my head the distance from my car- me- to the GFPD ; Bill. The request only resonated with surface-level-interest as I pulled off the road leading to her work, instead headed directly for mine. She thanked me, oblivious of the inner turmoil swirling beneath my skin.

We pulled up early, having cut out the usual route in our routine. Mabel got out first, yanking up the handle on her cake container like a briefcase, the poor dessert beating itself against silicon walls when she swung her arm sweetly. I took my time, feeling drained as an old man when my hand finally came to rest on the door handle. Warm, wet air pressed its way into the car as I stepped out, felt the granate beneath my feet, and was instantly shot with nerves.

Today, I die. Today, I die. Today, I die.

Mabel met me at the door, absolutely vibrating with energy that flushed her cheeks, rose to her ears, and lit the brown eyes that matched mine. That only made my mood sour farther, though. I thought I might throw up now.

"Which floor's your office on again?"

"Seven." A voice ripped its way through my throat, but couldn't have been mine. Instead, the words appeared in physical form as subtitles below me, and Mabel simply read them while a foreign tone dubbed my speech. I felt remarkably lost, standing at the entrance of a facility I'd worked at for several years now. My sister trailed me along as she weaved her way through the crowd.

Elevator doors opened, closed, and opened once more like teleportation. For the first time in a long time I wished to be anywhere but my own laboratory. Even marked up as a home among the list of settlements I'd made along the years- Piedmont, California. Buffalo, New york. Roadkill, Oregon.- I couldn't stand being in it. Because, this had been a sanctuary before. I went here to feel smart and useful, in spite of the few who said otherwise; to mix formulas. Test blood samples. Evaluate crime scene evidence, like any CSI agent should.

But, with those freshly polished dress shoes kicking themselves on my desk just as they'd done the first day, I wasn't sure I had the focus to file a report.

"Well, good morning !" Bill raised a hand, cigarette blazing like it always did between slender fingers. I flinched slightly, the sharp burn of smoke eliciting a feeling unlike the usual annoyance I felt when he was around me; not the grimace of distaste or unmistakable judgement his poor habits brought me. Instead, a memory came to mind. An association of that stick pressed tightly around his lips, huffing out smoke, and the night I'd been forced to breath it in his car. I shivered.

"Bill!" Mabel cheered, rushing past me to greet him, once again slinging the cake around in the container.

"If it isn't my favorite shooting star!" Bill chuckled when she approached, wrapping her arms around him like something to be lost. When she looked at Bill, there across his lips was a heartfelt smile of warmth and true joy. Her eyes shot away with modesty, and his features morphed into a distorted grin of dishonesty. A fingertip was placed against her shooting star earrings; the pair he'd praised her on once before. Mabel wore them often now. He flicked at them playfully, signalling an unspoken break from the hug. "Whatcha doing here? Thought you had work today." His voice was light, but someone as practiced as I on anything ' Bill' knew better than to trust that tone.

"Oh, nothing~." Mabel gave away every bit of the surprise, but still found it in her to swing the cake behind her back, out of his view. Something in me, distance and disconnected from the situation, cried out in sudden agony. A piece of me was catching on to exactly why she'd baked a cake.

" Nothing ?" Bill asked coyly, smiling mischievously. With his eyes away from me, I almost found it in me to get closer. A simple shuffle had him alerted of my gaining movements, and he shot me a look ordering me to stay still. His eyes washed over me like an ice bath, freezing my feet to the floor. Bill smiled cockily, only to look back at my sister.

" Nothing… " Mabel's voice trailed off for a moment, biting her lip as she looked away. With a sudden rush of enthusiasm, she brought the cake to her front, showcasing it with pride. "Nothing but this! Ta-da!" A heaviness broke through my rib cage, almost forcing me to double over in pain.

**Fuck **.

No. Not good. Not okay. I'd spent too much time worrying about goddamn monsters and goddamn Bill to figure out the whole 'Mabill' issue. She liked him. A lot. Pacifica had told me that much, and she was almost never wrong. She'd warned me about it before, and it'd been up to me to prevent it. Because, hot or not, Bill was a walking, talking sociopath with no regard for emotions or care or compassion. One look in his soulless eye told it all.

But, I'd neglected it. In favor of shapeshifters; vampires; drinks; the mind-blowing sensation of fingers yanking my hair-.

The details weren't important.

"What do we have here?" The shit-eating grin Bill pulled was all I needed to tell me he was completely aware of the situation. He'd boasted before, after all. It didn't take a genius to decipher something as blunt as Mabel and her obsession. His hands came out to cradle the plastic container like a complex piece of art.

"Just a little dessert for someone just as sweet." My sister giggled, hands clasped behind her back, looking to the floor with fake-shyness; a trick that, for some reason, made all her past boyfriends go crazy. Mabel bat her eyelashes, swaying on her feet as she watched my partner examine the attrosity.

"Oh, you~ ." Bill sang with a flattered tone. He turned away from her, placing the cake down before unclasping the plastic top. At least a third of the icing had been rubbed off on the walls, while half of the wording was illegible. Still, he glanced at it with knowing features.

My twin was silent, looking away and back at him several times, unsure but eager for a response. Angle was smiling at the broken pastry lying before him, crumbled up and disposable. But, he always smiled. No matter what went on before him, those teeth had a way of displaying themselves shamelessly. It only added to the mystery; his allure. His appeal. There was nothing to draw from such a one-dimensional man when all he did was smile at every little thing that came his way.

" So ." Mabel drew her words long, rocking on the backs of her heels as she spoke. Bill moved to the other side of the desk to get a full view of the awful cake, all the while I fought against paralysis. "What do you think?" She asked, gesturing towards her hard work. And, for a single moment, I felt the overwhelming sting of second-hand embarrassment. It really was an ugly cake. I almost had it in me to approach them. A simple glance my way had me stapled in place, though.

"What do I think?" Bill asked, almost flabbergasted as he placed a hand on his chest, a look of shock scribbled along his features. "What do you think I think?" He laughed, reaching over to give her shoulder a firm pat. Not romantically. Not sexually. Friendly. Mabel grew pale, only to regain herself.

"I think… You should read the icing ." Mabel's half-hearted laugh in response climbed up her throat, fell from dry lips, and shattered against the floor.

"Oh? Did you write something?" He squinted his eye, peering down more closely at the frosted dessert. Perhaps it had been an overstatement to say the words had been smeared and smudged against the plastic container, making all understanding incomprehensible. If anything, it was her curly handwriting that made what had survived completely alien to any english-speaker. Still, something told me Bill knew exactly what was on that cake. Maybe by the way he grinned smugly at the pastry, rubbing a hand over his suit; how he pulled a finger under his bowtie; when he shot me a look of conceited superiority.

"Yeah, it's-." Mabel looked over it, tisking at the overbearing messiness before her. She pulled out an icing pen from her pocket, as she'd planned on sucking it down later. "Hang on. Lemme redo it real quick." She bent down shamelessly, pressing at the pen's base before yet another blob of goop splashed along the cake. Hissing, her eyes shot up at Bill before going back to fix the blunder. A kind of connection was trying to formulate as her cheeks tightened, forcing a chast grin over her lips.

Bill looked as though he might say something, only for the office phone to ring. His already glowing face lightened at the sharp ring, and he swung around to view it.

"Oops! Would you look at that? Excuse me." He ducked past Mabel with a grin, eye closed, looking more than pleased when he picked up the receiver.

" Y'ello ?" Bill sang, chest puffed as he gazed out the window, sliding against a filing cabinet. He placed the phone to his ear, holding it casually with a lifted shoulder to press it in place. My partner took a moment to himself, nodding once, humming, and suddenly bursting to life with a welcomed laugh. "Oh, hey you!" Bill went, now turning to rest his back against a wall.

Mabel jerked at the loud noise, hand reflexively streaking blue icing from one corner of the cake to the other. She gasped slightly, looking up at him once with eyes like a baby's; someone who'd done wrong. Bill didn't seem to care either way, only shrugging his shoulders and pointing at the phone's base. " It's the boss." He mouthed out, turning from her for privacy. Mabel blushed as she ducked her head in shame, groaning poorly at the messy cake. She tried flicking away the rogue lines of blue icing, only for it to splat over purple frosting and stick.

With his eye away from me, I was able to take a few steps forward. I shuffled away from the coat rack, placing myself against one of the black tables like a crutch keeping me upright; I couldn't stop my knees from buckling around him. Bill acted as though neither me nor my sister existed as he twirled the phone's curly cord around his finger.

"Yes… Oh, right ! Absolutely; we're on it, chief!" He was pleasant in all forms, speaking into the phone with the practiced dialogue of a friend. It would've been something to bask in if the person performing such charmed activities wasn't a complete asshole.

Still, I couldn't help but feel a slight tug in his direction. The barest of pulls to get a little closer; within arm's reach, perhaps; just enough to smell the cologne he was wearing. I shook my head of the thought immediately, only more firmly gripping the table when I felt my legs angle to face him.

"Uh-huh. Uh- huh." Bill went on, nodding and stroking his hairless chin. His eye shifted towards Mabel with a flicker, viewing the gloomy girl to the left of him.

She was pouting now, having pulled out the other four icing pens from her pocket and somehow emptied every one of them onto the dessert; red, green, pink, and orange combined into one mesh of colored lines, with neither style nor meaning. The original text was completely lost under her second, third, fourth, and fifth attempts, and she'd even managed to lodge one of the pen's caps into the cake's rear.

"I'll make sure to tell him for you." Bill looked away, curling his lips in to stifle his mounting laughter. I furrowed my brows in distaste, watching him pretend to have not seen her. Well, damn. I didn't want him dating her, but he could at least show appreciation for the effort! My head turned, angled to view Mabel and any embarrassment she might feel, but the only expression she bared was one of determination. She looked as though she would give up on the cake's message and simply tell Bill how she felt once he was done on the phone.

I felt a rush of panic draw over my nails, through my elbows, up my arms to my neck. Bill definitely liked dancing around the whole topic; he and Mabel as a thing. It was probably good fun watching my sister sweat under the light he put her beneath, and even more to pretend her intentions weren't completely obvious. But, all good things must come to an end, and when she finally got her proposal out, he'd either take Mabel in spite of me or crush her for fun. My stomach curled inwards at the thought.

Time passed in the laboratory; fifteen or twenty minutes. Bill kept himself busy on the phone, conversing endlessly. Whenever it looked like he might stop talking, he'd shoot me a look, then Mabel, take in a sharp breath, and say something else.

"Oh, how's the misters, by the by?" He stood there patiently, smiling as his head lifted and lowered, completely enthralled by the conversation.

Mabel had moved over by me, seating herself quietly. Hands closed, back straight, she watched and waited for him to finish up. But, he only added to the discussion. Each time he changed subjects, Mabel took a look down at her Pink Kitty Glitter watch. She'd only expected to swing by, drop off the cake, get a kiss, and head out for work. It was going on eight now, and she could only imagine what her employer would say.

"Uh, Bill-." She cleared her throat, lifting a single finger to signal his attention. Bill's head tossed itself in her direction, looking from the window to view her. With a thin digit, he pressed it against his lips, shushed her, and went right back to talking. Mabel's face grew red, chewing her bottom lip anxiously.

There was a moment of pause. A kind of sensation drawing through her eyes in contemplation as she continually looked from Bill to the elevator doors. It wasn't like Mabel to miss work without calling in first, and something told me she hadn't said anything about making a detour to her boss. She took pride in her job; it was one of the few things she understood without need of an explanation. One final look at her watch.

8:15

" Hey, Dip ." She lowered her head, speaking softly so as not to alert Bill. " Can I borrow the car today? " But, of course. I was already at work. Mabel would have to drive herself to the crafts store.

Not waiting for confirmation, she took the liberty of digging her hand in my pants pocket, drawing out the keys as an unfitting gloom rode the corners of her lips. Mabel looked at them hesitatingly, holding the keys out and letting them jingle; I felt my ears perk at the sharp sound. She tossed one final glance back at Bill, growing tired when he sat down, kicked his feet up on my desk, and laid his head back with phone in hand. That seemed to determine her next move.

Sighing sadly, Mabel put the keys in her purse, gave me a soft side-hug, and approached the elevator.

I noticed Bill's eye trailing her the entire time, all the while he spoke into the phone's receiver.

"Yeah, I can do that. No prob, boss." His head tilted just slightly, watching as she pressed the 'down' button, waited for the elevator to open, and stepped inside. She entered and the doors slowly slid closed; Bill kept an eye on her the entire time. When she was gone, he sighed, rolled his head back tensely, and hung up the phone.

"God, I thought she'd never leave." My partner stood from the chair, going to the front of the desk to lean back.

"W-what-." I steadied myself, chewing the inside of my cheek to keep from stuttering. Nothing happened, Dipper. Nothing happened . "What did Bulbs want?" My voice was made even in an instance, but I couldn't help my eyes darting away. Shifting weight from one foot to the other, clearing my throat, I chanced a look in his direction; neutral. Completely cool and indifferent to my anxious demeanor. I tried to breathe, but my lungs wouldn't allow it.

"Nothing." Bill mused, sliding his hand into his pocket. He pulled out his own cellular device, wiggling it proudly. "I just called the lab's phone so it'd ring. Couldn't have shooting star profess her love to me, after all." A sick, sharp grin washed over his features as he leaned back smugly, eye slitted dark. He combed a hand through his hair before looking at his pearly nails and rubbing them over his dress shirt. "You'd get so jealous ." Bill cooed.

"In your dreams." I willed, forcing my hands to let go of the table. Part of getting past this was acting casual; though my legs shook and my throat tightened, I couldn't afford to give up this position. This 'normal' act. I rubbed my hands against my pant legs, dabbing away the sweat of my palms.

"In your dreams, pine tree." He shot back with a laugh. "You're lucky I'm such a considerate guy." The cell phone slid away, back into his pocket.

"Should I be moved?" I crossed my arms, taking a step towards him, this time with a kind of half-confidence. It wasn't all that hard, now that I thought about it, to relax around him. Not too much, of course. I knew what would happen if I let my guard down. That's what got me in this situation in the first place.

"A few tears of joy would be nice. Then again, seeing you cry in general would be nice." He leaned forward with a smug grin, tilting his head to the side as his gaze hardened. A chill ran up my spine, unsure what kind of 'crying' he wanted to see from me. I tried not to linger on it.

I squared my shoulders, sucking in a breath as I approached the desk, which Bill was currently leaning against. It was like an invisible barrier placed between us as I circled him, keeping a solid four feet up until the point I broke the distance and grabbed at the files on my desk. A part of me screamed within the skin, every nerve amplified around the arm I reached with, expecting Bill to leave me with some kind of contact. A touch; grab my wrist. Twist me around.

He remained docile though, momentarially intrigued by the lint clinging to his sleeves. As if rematerializing between us, I stepped back quickly to regain the original four feet. Bill looked up at me then, cocking a brow at my hasty demeanor. I could almost hear the taunting intent in his gaze, but what he said in place of teasing refrained from it.

"You weren't half bad that night." His voice was uncharacteristically serious in that instance, only for a smile to break out over his features. "Have you been practicing?" I stiffened.

" No-."

"So, you're new to this?" I grew cautious, watching him shuffle in place. He made it sound like that hadn't been the first and last time.

"There is no 'this' . It was an accident ." I winced at my own excuse. 'Accident,' I said. Oh, yeah. Definitely. I just slipped in the car, and his pants so happened to be unzipped.

Woops .

How stupid.

"You're pretty damn clumsy, sweet heart." He laughed cruelly, seating himself on the edge of the desk before pulling a very serious expression. The color on my face drained away, looking into that eye. It was animalistic. Sharp. Just like last time. "You wouldn't happen to know how to clean cum out of nylon, would you?" He quipped.

"You really are a piece of shit." I growled, tossing aside files on the 'Bill dilema' in favor of placing my hands on my hips. My partner smiled back, shifting his gaze to the documents for only a moment before looking at me.

"You like it. Don't pretend." Bill purred. "You like the disrespect."

"How fucked up do you think I am?"

"On a scale of 1 to 10, I'd guess Jeffrey Dahmer."

"You guessed wrong." My teeth were clenched, grinding together in a fit of frustration; for both his arrogance and my mounting intrigue. "I'm not like you."

"Aren't you? We both enjoyed it-."

" You enjoyed it." I corrected him. Bill laughed.

"Am I supposed to believe that?" He crossed and uncrossed his legs, swinging them slightly as his body became angled towards me. "You hate my guts , darling. It wouldn't have gone that far if you hadn't wanted it."

"Yeah? Well, it's not exactly easy to just stop." Which wasn't a lie. It was hard to stop something heated like that. Especially when the other party was so set on getting things rolling. It was awkward. Clunky. Things would be different between the two afterwards, and they'd start having doubts about the whole relationship. Why had they stopped? Why didn't they want it? Did they do something wrong?

Did Wendy do something wrong?

No. She was fine.

It was just me.

I was the problem.

"Maybe you shouldn't have gotten things started, then."

"And, what exactly did I start? Last I checked, you kissed me. " I put a hand over my chest, leaning in just barely. Still too far to touch, but close enough to feel claustrophobic.

"You really are something, sapling." Laughing, Bill shook his head lowly. He took a single drag of his ignored cigarette, blowing the smoke in my direction as though he knew the effect it had on me. The newly forming effect.

I stifled a groan.

"I think you know what we've been doing the past month or so. There's no need to be ashamed. It's fun! "

"What's fun?" I asked against my better judgement.

"Flirting." Bill responded bluntly. I choked on a bit of saliva. By the way his face lightened up I knew he'd seen my expression of vulnerability. "You." He gestured towards me. "And I." His hand flew back, pointing to himself. "Have been flirting." He finished cockilly. I felt my cheeks burn.

"Oh my god, Bill. Will you fuck off- ?"

"Watch your mouth." Bill broke in coldly, shooting me a glance unlike his usual smile. It looked almost annoyed; just short of it, and with a slight twist of mischief. Like he was playing, but still boarding honesty.

"Or what ?" My voice quivered, and I cursed myself when he returned to his usual beaming self.

"I'll remind you just how good it felt to shut you up." The way he kept a straight face; how he maintained eye contact the entire time; killed me. I bit down on my tongue, hoping to gain some kind of wisdom in not shooting back instantly. That only made me look slow, though. It gave him just enough time to add on. "You seemed pretty happy about it last time." He went, shrugging his shoulders.

"The only thing that could ever make me ' happy' is watching you clock out for the **last time** ." I took a step forward, unable to control the sudden rush of embarrassment and infatuation. Nothing happened, Dipper. Nothing, nothing, nothing!

That's a lie.

You can fix this. Just ignore it, and it'll go away.

You're lying. This is a lie.

" Aw . You don't mean it; do you, baby?" Bill faked heart ache, as though he had one. His cigarette was starting to ash against his pant leg, half-burnt and dying away.

"Fuck yes , I mean it!" I threw my hands up in frustration, taking yet another step. I felt so amazingly tense around him. All the time, I realized, there was an unbearable load of stress lingering over this laboratory. And I'd always assumed it was because of Bill. It had to be Bill; who stole my seat.

Smoked in the office.

Acted like a smart ass.

Was an endangerment to my sister. He was trash.

"All you ever do is fuck with me! Don't you get it? You confused me!"

"I've been honest with you since day one, pine tree. Don't go pulling the victim card on me now. We were both playing to win." He chuckled.

"No, I wasn't! I was never playing your game!"

" My game? Oh, honey no . Now you're confused!" Bill pulled a pitying look, sitting further back on the desk. "This was all your idea."

"How in the hell was it my idea?" One final step brought me before him; like a fawn to a bear. But, I was doped up on adrenaline and self-preservation.

Nothing happened nothing happened nothing happened.

Lies lies lies.

Today, I die.

"You're so coy about it; the flirting. Don't think I never noticed you watching me." Bill's words were followed by mild action. Now that I was close, he took a kind of lead, wrapping his arm about my lower back, pulling me closer, and I couldn't bring myself to slap it away.

Like always.

I couldn't let go of such a good thing.

"You act like you hate me…" His head lowered with a pout, but it was too artificial. I could already see his smile overtake the expression. "But, that's not true, is it?"

"It is-." He placed a finger over my lips, shushing me.

"It's not." Bill corrected. "You're just making an idiot out of yourself now. Don't. I like you when you're smart."

"Oh, so I'm smart now?" I glared down at him, fighting back a slight smirk in triumph. I hoped with all my heart it killed him to admit it. A part of me was sure it did.

"For an idiot; yeah." He pulled me in just a little closer.

You know where this is going, Dipper. You know where this road leads. Listen to me, it's just like last time! Don't let him touch you! Don't let it fog your mind! You'll regret it! You will. Just like with-.

With-...

But, don't you want this?

"You love me." Bill looked into my eyes, knowing in every aspect. "Say it." He purred.

I said nothing, though. I couldn't. Everything was coming one after the other, and it zoomed past me like a speedy train. Say it. **Love**. Like hell, I loved that asshole. I had more chance loving a terrorist. This? This was toxic. Dangerously infectious, and if I let him into my life the way he wanted, there was no denying he would consume all I held dear.

I wasn't sure I minded, though.

That was radical to think. This could destroy my life. My family relations. Close friends. Wendy . Mrs. Wendy Pines. It hadn't sounded half-bad in my preteen years. But, perhaps the wording was off a little, and Dipper Corduroy just felt wrong for some reason. We could figure it out, though. We could keep our last names. Or learn to appreciate the new ones. There was nothing to fear.

Bill's features expressed a kind of falseness about them; playful. 'Love'. Like Bill cared any for someone who 'loved' him. That wasn't what he meant. 'Love.' He'd misspoken. That wasn't what I felt for him in the slightest. Never. Never in my life would I feel that way towards another man. It was something far more vulgar. Less clean. More demanding. A selfish desire, meant to devour each other in spite of attraction. It was to ravish inflicted pain and bestow obsessive ownership over the weaker of the two.

Lust.

I shook my head lowly, keeping eyes from him at all costs. It felt like something being peeled away; a thin sheet of pride used to obscure a large wall of shame. He got me. For once, Bill had really gotten me.

"Why?" I ignored his order, shaking my head in disbelief. Something's wrong here. He shouldn't have won so easily over me. This shouldn't be happening. "I thought you wanted Mabel…" I whispered thoughtfully, trying to understand. Bill chuckled at my growing distress, lifting me just slightly to place his thigh between my legs. My chest heaved, looking up to view his sharp grin.

Bill turned from me to face the cake placed just at the edge of the desk. Without hesitation or remorse, trailing the pastry with an uncaring eye, he took his index finger, placed it against the base of the dish, and slid the entire thing off the desk, into a waste bin. Pain rode through my chest, hearing an ungrateful splat caught by a plastic bag. She'd worked so hard on it, too.

A dark, far off voice told me I was happy to see it gone.

"A man has the right to change his mind, doesn't he?" His leg came up against me, bucking once under my groin, forcing me to hiss. It felt so sensitive. I had to fight the urge of grinding into the intrusion, even as my hands shook in fear.

Today, I die.

" But- ." His hand slid down to cup me from behind.

Too much. Too much. Just like last time. That one night. It's all too forward. Too chasing. And, you're willing to let him.

"You've always got something to say, don't you? I'll give you a life lesson right here: never look a gift-horse in the mouth. Don't overthink it, dollface." He cut in with a 'wink', pulling me up by my thighs to sit more comfortably on him. "I'm not asking for a commitment." Bill confirmed.

A flame of unsuspecting delight ignited in the back of my chest, hearing him say that. For some odd reason, that soothed a bitter, reserved piece of my mind. This wasn't romantic, after all. Just a little fooling around. Everybody does it. It's natural.

"You-." My voice was strained, weak and oddly chaste considering the circumstances. I swallowed once; closed my eyes in hopes of seeing the bigger picture, but the leg between my thighs was giving me severe tunnel vision. I could only understand the widespread heat spiking along my skin, hot when I placed my hand against his chest. "-make me sick."

" Love sick?" Bill questioned as he pressed his chest against mine. I almost hissed, feeling my bullet proof vest rub over warm skin. It was far too stimulating.

"More like Covid 19 sick." That made Bill laugh, and a strange pride overwhelmed me. It was kind of intriguing, seeing his features lighten up like that. How he leaned us both back so his elbows propped himself on the desk, and I allowed myself to lie on his chest. When he scooted farther back, forcing my legs up so we were seated completely on the desk. I felt shameful pride.

"I'm just happy I got to infect you, then." A flash of Wendy hit the back of my mind. Her smiling; laughing and being otherwise rebellious. The weakest of burns crawled against the tips of my ears, and I tried to ignore the pain. Not in betraying a loved one. My partner. My friend . But in the mounting despair I felt when realizing how little it mattered to me how this would hurt her. I didn't care. I don't care. At all. It was a numbing sensation, simply there to remind me what I could lose if I went ahead with this.

The situation outweighed Wendy's entire existence.

I leaned in, pressing my lips against Bill's before trailing fingers through blond hair. He lowered himself on the desk surface, pulling me with him to lie on top. The kiss felt ridiculously gentle in the moment, considering everything else we'd done, but I still couldn't help the hitch in my breathing when he shifted, moving that leg between my thighs. He smiled against my lips, nipping me cheekily.

His hands remained almost entirely on my ass, rubbing and squeezing with satisfaction when I not only let him touch, but rolled back a few times against his leg when he did. I could feel a small chuckle against his tongue, sliding out to graze my bottom lip. I met him with my own, sticking my tongue out to attack his; curling along the tip; sucking on it playfully; it wasn't too different from… Other things. Bill took the liberty of pulling our lips together, delving into my mouth.

A poor moan ripped through my throat as he once again brought his leg back to rub me. He used his hands placed on my rear to push back, lift and lower me down against thick, black polyester. I couldn't help but break from the kiss, rest my forehead against his chest, and clench at the sensation. Bill only chuckled at my response before tilting my head up by the hair and bringing me to his lips again.

I willed myself to relax in his hold, though paranoia ate me inside. Someone could easily walk in on us. Who's to say there aren't any cameras in the laboratory? What if we're being watched right now?

The tongue in my mouth kept me distracted.

"You know-." Bill broke away to say, only for my lips to reattach and stop him. He spoke between heated tongues. "You're not-. Half bad-. For a virgin." I snorted, letting the comment slide in favor of his growing tolerability. He wasn't half bad, either. For an asshole .

His right hand regrettably abandoned my ass, only to ride down my pant leg and rest at the back of my knee. I almost whined, feeling almost ignored now that the physical contact was being dampened. That didn't last long.

Bill's fingers tightened around my leg, pulling me open. I gasped, almost crashing my pelvis against his with how quickly he swept me apart. I caught myself just above him, my rear still pressed against his thigh, looking at him with unsure features. My lips hardened against his, and for a moment, I wasn't sure I could still go through with this. But, this had already gone so far, it wasn't like there was much to be done about his intentions.

As if already knowing my response, Bill added pressure to my left cheek, forcing my crotch down the extra inch between us. I choked on his tongue, feeling the unmistakable incline of his bulge against mine. Something told me I should have felt jealous of the size, but I was overcome with an alien expression of hesitant joy. It felt so good, even unmoving, to have him pressed to close to me like this. The contact made us groan.

I bit my lip, pushing myself up during the fuzzy lightheadedness of my blood being redirected. I placed my hands on his chest, huffing lazily at his bare presence underneath me. It felt amazing, even as a stagnant piece of flesh, to know the kind of response he was giving me. The size was nothing to sniff at, throbbing heavily, though motionless. It didn't help my evolving arousal in the slightest; only worked to fuel my frustration.

"You seem a little excited." Bill gave a breathy laugh, hands going back to my ass. I stiffened, shaking at the remembered contact now amplified by added heat. "Ready for round two?"

" Please- ." I rolled my head back, a hot flash hitting my veins when he just barely twitched below me. " Just shut up and do something ." I couldn't help myself, taking the initiative as I rolled my hips against his, feeling his hard cock through a dry pair of slacks.

Bill was hard as marble, but the way his features stayed level and smug annoyed me. He bucked up into my hips, forcing a cry from my swollen lips. He cackled, slapping my ass once before giving a second buck; I barely withheld a whine behind bitten lips.

" Aw ~." Bill purred cockily, rubbing small circles around the cheek he slapped. " You like it ." I glowered, looking down at him in distaste, though the quickening grind of our hips contradicted my expression.

" So-so d-o yo-u ." I hated how my voice sounded, chopped up against every bounce his hips made under me. He was getting harder; faster and less considerate under me. Our pants were still on, but I couldn't help but feel like he was almost fucking me with the motions he made. Heavy bumping could be heard, just short of pain when his clothed dick dragged hot lines against mine. Every particularly good grind had my head shooting up; the perfect ones made my neck roll.

Chills overtook me when I sensed a vague wetness against my zipper. I groaned sadly, looking at the dark spot that formulated at the peak of my bulge, causing Bill to laugh. He couldn't care less.

" So messy , baby ." Bill tisked, a loose smile breaking along his features when he looked at my pre-cum soaked pants. My cheeks grew scorching hot at the low draw of his tone. " Calm down ." He snickered.

" N-o ." I choked on a gasp when he made one of his 'perfect' thrusts, forcing my head back unexpectedly. It was all I could do to stop from begging him to bend me over the desk and fuck me. It didn't seem to matter what I said, though. Bill would always be a smug piece of shit, whether I jacked him off or not.

" No? " He asked innocently; an amazing feat considering our current position. " No what? No, you won't calm down? Or no, you **can't? **" He slid his hands to either side of my waist, forcing me down a little faster than before. It was at such a good angle, too. Just right, so his tip slid from the base to the top of my penis; it made me forget his question for a moment as my eyes rolled back, cooing words of praise and agreeance.

Oh my god, yes.

Please, Bill. Please.

So good. So good. So good.

His arms stiffened against my hips, forcing me to still above him. I was unable to hold it this time; the deafening whine of frustration and need. I throbbed shamelessly, trying with all my might to wiggle despite my own pride, desperate for more friction. He chuckled darkly.

" Answer me ." He smiled. I couldn't help my whimpering, trying a final time to grind down before I died of excitement. His grip was firm, though; holding me just above his bobbing dick. I hissed, taking my hands from his chest to rub the stimulated sides of my thighs, hoping to relieve some of the tension. It only worked to flame my skin. I contemplated for a split second just touching myself. On top of him, just rubbing and watching the man I hated so much either laugh or stare with entertainment. The thought felt amazing.

But, something far deeper kept me patient. The thought of him touching me was absolutely drug-inducing. The idea of him holding me here, whining and eagre, unable to relieve myself without his help, took a heavy shot at my ego. Still, excitement overtook me when the image came to mind. To think I belonged to someone, and they controlled every second of my pleasure, was both fucked up and strangely arousing.

My mouth fell open when he teased a single stroke along my cock. Working quickly, I wracked my brain for his question, trying to remember his exact words. The contact. I needed it so bad, it hurt to accept.

" C-Ca-n't ." I summoned from within, the purest sheet of humiliation coating me as both punishment and a strange reward. It felt so good to be controlled. So harsh. So comforting. I was backhanded with the embarrassing realization that Bill was probably right about me liking the disrespect. That I liked to be talked down to by him. I liked to play the brat sometimes. It made my face burn even worse.

" Good boy ." He praised in a condescending tone, laughing when my face brightened at his shifting body. The returned contact was enough to make me tear up as my mouth fell open again, head falling back as his hands guided my hips.

" Fuuuck." I moaned, far more appreciative of the friction than before. My hips bucked sharply each time he lowered me in his lap, high whines of protest cutting through every second away. The view, I had to admit, definitely added to my excitement. He just laid there below me; watching me; admiring me; It drove me crazy when the barest of grins passed his weakening lips.

I cried out, feeling the painful erection pressed tightly against my zipper. My crotch was embarrassingly damp with pre-cum, but I didn't care anymore. Bill had a dark spot of his own too, and it only added to the clean glide of slick polyester clothing our hungry cocks. No, I couldn't care less. All that mattered now was Bill's hands roaming me. Running up my back. Down my ass. Over my chest. Rubbing circles over my belly and thighs, but never touching the important stuff. His hands stayed clear of direct stimulation.

" You want it so bad, don't you ?" Bill's husky tone had me almost bawling. It was like being shot through the back, the way his voice got me completely hypnotized. My pride was gone. I only chased after pleasure now.

" Y-es." He caught me between thrusts, making my words breathy when I nodded my head in reassurance. This was humiliating. I knew. I opened my eyes to look down at him; I wanted to make sure he knew, too. In this single instance of clarity, I felt deep in my soul an undeniable need to be used for someone else. It only seemed to quicken my already speedy grinding. Bill whistled up at me.

" Do you deserve it? Do you think you've earned it? "

" Yes-."

"Are you sure?"

"Ye-s, B-il-l."

"How do I know I can trust you?" My eyes pricked with tears, feeling a floor of need crash into me. I was so close, it could've torn me apart. Whining, I bit down on my tongue, steadying myself just enough to plead for it.

" I-'ll be go-od-. So- good." A single tear slid down my cheek, running over my lips to dangle at my chin. That was when Bill leaned up, halting all grinding. Once again, I cried out in frustration, only for him to readjust himself and rub against me with new-found heat. He held me upright, chests pressed together as he gripped me tightly around the ass. His tongue slid out to lick away the single tear.

" I knew- it ." Pure pride overwhelmed me when he stopped himself, biting his lip before a heavy moan could grace my ears. I hummed gleefully, feeling his teeth trail the underside of my chin. " You're a crier." He mocked before sucking along my neck, my collarbone, and stopping to bite my shoulder blade.

An undignified yelp cursed me as I flinched up, away from his nipping. It didn't deter his intentions, following my skin when I pulled away or bunched up against his teeth. My yelping quickly turned into slight snickering when his lips tickled over my neck. The snickering dissolved into hitched moaning afterwards as I once again lifted and lowered myself against his throbbing cock. Moans transformed into cries of both joy and frustration, only to finally settle on indignant dirty talking.

" Yo-u're s-o big-." His lips danced along my skin, sinking teeth and sucking dark purple spots over my collarbone and neck. " I- wan-t it so b-ad." Bill said nothing, face buried in the crook of my neck as he pulled at delicate skin. A part of me feared him leaving marks too big to conceal. The fantasising, less realistic part of me hoped he did a lot worse than leave hickies. I wanted him to absolutely destroy me.

After a few deep, searing chomps at my flesh, Bill pulled back just a little. His hands road up from my rear, over my shoulder blades, stopping to massage the abused flesh of my neck. I hissed, but allowed the prodding. I was getting so ridiculously close, I found myself almost blacking out a few times now. I looked down at my burning erection, and was filled with both impatience and anticipation.

Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I arched my back, allowing his cock to hit me with perfect impact.

" Oh my- God! " This was perfect. Hot. Fast. Stimulating. Every motion rippled through the fabric of our pants and shot heated waves of pleasure around us. I could feel myself growing erotic, my hips no longer able to function with exact thrusts; I caught myself miss his throbbing dick once or twice, making him growl into my ear. Even with his smug demeanor as a safeguard, Bill couldn't shield the obvious pleasure this brought him. It was only a matter of time before-.

" Ah! Yes-. " His hand found its way to the front of my pants to massage around the hard meat inside. The embarrassing squelch of fabric soaked in pre-cum could be heard as he worked his fingers, rubbing up and down teasingly; not grabbing against the restrictive polyester, but pressing wonderfully.

His hand lowered, pressing just under the hood of my penis, forcing me to cry out as I came. I could feel my balls tighten, sending a ridged shock up my back as I curled inwards, arched, and rode out my orgasm with a pathetic wail of indulgence. My thoughts chanted endlessly, both praising and booing the electric burn that hardened my muscles.

Yes yes yes.

No no no.

Bill came moments later, growling feverishly against rosey lips as his hips stuttered, dampened, and stilled. He huffed then, obvious fatigue coating the smile he wore. He laid back, forcing me to follow along when his arm refused to retract itself from behind me. Heaving, I couldn't help but grin at my partner, now beaten down and tired. It would've been a perfect chance to tease him if not for the similar exhaustion I felt.

We stayed like that for what felt like hours, just breathing and sweating and rolling out hands over our foreheads with goofy grins plastered over our faces. Grins. We were grinning at this. I pretended not to notice the gross slosh of white cum seeping into the front side of my pants as I slid off of Bill finally. Still panting, I cleared my dry throat, looking anywhere but the beautifully limp body before me.

"We should-. We should probably get to work." I commented awkwardly, bracing myself for Bill's inevitable mockery afterwards. He only sighed though, turning on his side to get off the desk onto his feet like nothing had happened. But, that would be a lie. Something happened. Something definitely happened.

"You got it, boss." He yawned, stretching tightly against hard muscles. I made a point of looking away when he did, like there was still modesty to be maintained between us. Even though I'd sucked his dick and ground against his cock; oh no. But, this is a Christian partnership. I rolled my eyes when the thought passed over me.

"You know what? We should do that again some time." Bill offered, and I bordered along furious when my mind still considered that a good idea. Post-nut clarity was supposed to keep me from making the same stupid mistake twice. Or, at least the same mistake in one sitting. But, it didn't. All I could think when he said that was 'can't wait.' That wasn't what I said, of course.

"Sure. Whatever." I shrugged my shoulders, turning away from him. The mess in my pants was really starting to disturb me. Taking a tissue, I pressed circled along the wet fabric, blooming red when it did virtually nothing in effect.

"Great. Pick you up Friday, pine tree."


	29. Xanax

Dipper laid on his bed, groaning. He slid a hand over his face after tossing his cell phone aside; a cruel message had been sent to him today.

B: Dress to impress, pine tree.

Don't ask what possessed him to give out his number like that. He'd only blame it on the blissful afterglow of an orgasm fogging his mind. But, if Dipper was being completely honest with himself- which he never was- the truth told a different story.

It'd been good.

Really, really good.

And so, after much internal debate- Splashing water on his face, reading self help books, searching the web- he decided, ' fuck it.' Why should he play the white knight around that guy, anyway? It was a waste of energy putting his best foot forward around him; not to mention poorly spent. Someone like Bill couldn't care less about internal appearance. It was all surface-level with him. Which, somehow, made the decision an easy one.

Still, it cut through his self-esteem when he looked at the situation with a critical eye. This was sort of… Gay. Okay, really gay, and he knew that. Dipper was perfectly aware of what was going on. It was probably a sign of some mental breakdown; he'd been under a load of stress, after all. And, what was sex anyways? Physical stimulation; a flood of hormonal release and ecstasy. Who's to say liking it made you one way or the other? You could still be straight and enjoy it without the ever-present title society forced upon engagers of same-sex 'entertainment.'

This didn't mean anything

Bill hadn't been joking, as Dipper previously assumed, about picking him up friday. On the contrary, Cipher had been dead-serious for once. The plan had started as a night out; a walk through the park, sightseeing, a short drive. Dipper shot the option down immediately. Too romantic. Bill offered to buy dinner. Nope; not a chance. Okay, he said, then suggested a movie. But, all of the films were either romance or horror, and no way was Dipper cuddling that freak's arm under any circumstance. In the end, the evening's plans were left bare, aside from the obvious build up intended from it.

This was just a game, Dipper knew. Some people liked to take their meals out for a short while- really show it off, get the mood just right- before inevitably devouring it. He wasn't dumb. This was an extra step leading to what they really wanted: Sex. And, that being the case, Dipper would keep it as straightforward as possible. No reason beating around the bush, like a hot meal was going to change the outcome. It wasn't a date. Just giving each other a hand with things.

The meeting was scheduled for eight. Some ' after-hours ' business he'd be taking care of at the lab; just vague enough to secure an alibi without raising any red flags. Mabel wouldn't question it. Dipper wouldn't get caught up. He'd make his way down to the car, input Bill's address, head over and be back by nine. No fuss. No mess. No cuddling. Just primal instinct. Maybe a quick drink, but nothing more. He would keep it utilitarian.

Sitting himself up, Dipper took a moment to relay all possible outcomes, the best being everything would go according to plan. But, there was always something that could go wrong. Mabel wasn't a suspicious person, but she was definitely nosey. There was always the possibility of her asking too many questions. And, not necessarily of him, but anyone. Suppose she went up to Chief Blubs and asked what he'd gotten up to last night in the lab? He'd tell her Dipper hadn't come in the night before. That'd be a problem.

Or, what if someone walked in on the two? A cleaning lady, an old friend; anyone. Not that Bill would have either of those things, considering he was Bill . It was always important to consider, though. Dipper was well-known enough to get his name out in the community. It could always spread out of control.

What if someone saw him heading off to Bill's apartment? Again, he'd be telling Mabel a different story. But, who could be so bored with their lives that they'd chalk something out of 'nothing' ? A lot of people, actually. Gravity Falls was filled with snooping priers, looking for new material to pass on over the phone. It wasn't a good place for shady business.

For all the setbacks Dipper considered, and all the anxiety it built against his throat, he had to admit that none of these struck him as serious issues. Maybe a little inconvenient, but hey: Bill was his partner. They were working on a case together; who's to say Dipper hadn't come over to investigate further? Why else would he come to Bill's place? He hated his guts, after all. It wasn't a hard story to fabricate, or one to believe in.

Everything would go fine.

Dipper stood, moving to his dresser. It made him growl, roll his eyes, and snort when he felt mild concern behind what he would wear. ' Dress to impress ,' Bill had said. What did Dipper care, though? This wasn't a date . He'd taken a shower, combed his hair, even put on a little moisturizer . But, hell if he was about to wear something fancy. He pulled on the dresser's handle, grabbing at the first shirt he saw; a white tee, printed with an asian man in a full-body pink suit, cooking ramen.

That got the message across pretty well.

Dipper slid it on smuggly, followed by a pair of jeans from the floor. He slid on some high tops, but that was the pinnacle point of effort. Looking to the mirror, Dipper held himself with odd pride when he saw his reflection. Nothing crazy. Definitely not fancy, and way too casual to suggest alternative motives.

Still, his outfit kind of matched, and the jeans were tighter than what he usually wore at work; they looked good on him. A little too good. He didn't want to look ridiculous, though. It'd only hurt himself if he went out dressed like a clown. And, even his overthinking how he dressed was a battle lost to Bill. He decided to leave it as is.

Dipper checked the time on his phone; a quarter till six. Plenty of time to consider… things. Was he supposed to bring supply? Like, condoms and stuff? Or, did Bill have it covered? No way was he texting him to find out; someone might see the messages later on, and that'd be a whole mess to explain. Buying protection would be weird, too. The baggers in Gravity Falls were chatty. Even if you were lucky enough to get out of the line without striking up a conversation, they would always talk afterwards. Purchasing protection was a no-no. At least on his end.

It didn't matter. They'd figure it out as they went along.

" Dipper!" Mabel sang through the door, causing Dipper to jump out of his thoughts. She knocked once, waited half a millisecond, and entered the room before he could process it. "Wendy's waiting for you."

Like that, a wrench was thrown in his plan.

It was Friday.

Movie night.

Shit.

Dipper had forgotten. Considering everything over the past week, it wasn't so crazy to fathom. Let it be known, he and Wendy had cancelled the last two movie nights on account of the Doe Town case. In that span of time, it was easy to gloss over their tradition of popcorn, beer, and bad horror films, exchanged for girly cocktails, blaring music, and the occasional ' hey, baby. ' In retrospect, it should've been in the back of his mind at the very least. But, no. Dipper hadn't even thought of it, too busy trying to figure out how he could successfully keep his shenanigans up. Which were bad. Very, very bad.

"Uh, y-yeah." Dipper tripped on his way to the bed, forcing him to stumble and catch himself on the foot board. "I'll be out in a sec." Mabel snorted at his slightly frazzled demeanor, taking it as a blast from the past; back when Dipper was still a sweaty mess around Wendy.

It made sense to her, taking into account how their relationship had changed over the past month. Wendy made sure to keep her up to date. Things were definitely weird between them, and they were only growing in distance as Dipper spent more and more time at work, leaving Wendy to her own matters.

But, that was just Dipper; weird . There wasn't anything to worry about, Mabel decided. She knew her brother. When he didn't get his fat brain in the way of things, Dipper was sweet. Considerate, selfless- and despite Mabel's disagreement with Wendy- romantic at times. He could keep it up as long as she kept liking him. And, she did. Way more than she should, at least in Mabel's opinion. Wendy was serious about him, in the only way a woman from her family could be.

She wanted to get married.

Of course, Dipper didn't know about any of that, and she wasn't so forward that she'd propose the idea herself. Not even Mabel knew; but, she would be the first person to go to if the day ever came. Wendy had never before considered it; a domestic life, with kids, a husband, living in the suburbs of some neo-catholic corner in Piedmont, California. It hadn't seemed like a life worth her time. But, after the first scare in their relationship- questioning where they stood as partners, who loved who, what would become of them- it backhanded her like a marble statue just how afraid she'd been of losing him.

"'Kay!" Mabel sang, sliding from the doorway. She winked at him once, closed the door, only to reopen it with a pair of finger guns pointed his way. "Dress to impress, bro-bro~." A shock crashed into him, turning cold as it rode down his spine, across his tail bone, and sat at the soles of his feet. One look into her eyes calmed him. She was teasing. Just teasing, with a wide, dorky smile smeared across her face. Still, it was a creepy coincidence.

"Not likely." Dipper joked half-heartedly, turning from her to slide back on the bed. Reaching for his night stand, yanking open the top compartment, he pulled out a small bottle that fit in the palm of his hand. Brown, thick glass was wrapped tightly with a white slip of paper: Prescription only Medication. Keep out of reach of children. Xanax tablets; 2 mg; Alprazolam tablets. Without thinking, he pressed down on the cap, twisted, and opened it to showcase long white pills. He took one, swallowed it dry, feeling the lengthy bar slug down his throat.

It'd started back in New York. A little after his first night in Buffalo, sleeping on a futon his dad had unfolded for him when the movers were still flying his stuff to the new apartment. It had been cold those days. Dark, able to feel the metal bars of his makeshift bed, suspending him above wooden flooring. Able to hear the neighbors next door. To smell what had been leftover after take out. See the silhouette of a man, three feet away, standing in a corner just left of him, asking if he needed a ride.

That was how it started. For nights, the same man stood in the corner. Smiling, cooing at Dipper's young, supple parts, wondering if he'd ever kissed a man. And he, being far too caught up in the supernatural to discern reality from the vivid mental backtrack of trauma, was almost certain John was really with him. Watching him. In the living room. The kitchen. The shower. Never touching, but speaking. Dipper was crazy back then.

He snapped half-way through the year, at the worst possible time; the Mathletes semi-finals. It was his teammate's turn, stepping up to the podium to answer some question about sin or f(x) or the square root. He could hardly remember the point of breaking; only the bare wisp of black hair, cologne, and citrus. A multitude of hands gripped at him to stay upright as he tumbled forward, onto his knees, screeching at the top of his lungs something about the Holographic Universe.

A white room. A stail, plastic mattress, coated with thin blankets, which he laid on top of. His father, seated in the waiting room, arguing vigorously with the stern woman on the other end.

"He's fine ! He is… No, I-. He says he doesn't need to see anyone anymore… Well, gosh dang it, Miriam! He can make his own decisions!"

He was informed of his team's forfeit the day after.

"Mason said he wants to stay here ."

A single shadow. The silhouette of a man: real or fake? He wasn't so sure anymore.

"He's my son, too!"

The floor was collapsing, Dipper saw, under the figure's feet. And still, he stood upright. Unaffected. Like some omnipotent being.

"Go ahead! See if I care!"

Daniel Pines took Dipper home that night, sure everything was okay. Around 2 AM, he heard a strange sound coming from his son's room. The tearing of fabrics. Metal slicing against metal. The creaking of wooden flooring. Dipper was stabbing his mattress.

That was when they took him in.

Dipper's mom was close to having him admitted, and if his father hadn't been so against it, he definitely would've been. It was just a nervous breakdown. Moving away from family; friends. A new school. A new state. It was overwhelming, his father had assured the doctors.

A prescription. Xanax; one tablet every 3 to 4 days. Alprazolam was addicting, after all. Even worse than that. It was shameful every time a refill was ordered, and the new bottle was passed on to him. Like he couldn't handle himself. Like he was out of control. But, he was fine. Everything was fine.

As long as he was in control.

Dipper shook the memory away, placing the bottle back in the drawer; the very back, against wooden paneling, behind a small notepad. He didn't like looking at the container.

"What are you guys gonna watch?" Mabel asked, leaning against the door frame. Dipper shrugged at her.

"Something. I don't know. What's out right now?"

"Wow. Would you look at that? Dipper not knowing something!" She teased playfully. Humming, she cradled her chin in her palm, looking to the ceiling for inspiration. " Let's see … Oh! I think ' The Pretty Fish Chick Trades Her Voice For Cock ' is out now."

"The live-action?" Dipper got off his bed, stood by the nightstand and checked the time again. Ten minutes to six. Bill would never let him live it down if he arrived late. Or, maybe he would. He seemed like the type to appreciate someone who was fashionably late. In that case, Dipper could make him wait forever, and it'd only add to the anticipation.

"Nah, the Bollywood rip-off." Mabel replied, only to pause in contemplation. She looked away, pouting as her eyes slit suspiciously. "On second thought, It might be a porno."

"Sounds great." Dipper's indifferent tone passed over her with a lack of judgement. "Tell Wendy I'm almost ready."

"Yes'sir!" She saluted before dipping out of the room, leaving him to his own accord. Dipper sighed after she left, carded a hand through his hair. This wasn't exactly ideal. He had hardly even considered his girlfriend the last few days, if at all. That, above all, was confusing. It should've torn him apart; choosing between loyalty for Wendy and the system-breaking aftershock of an orgasm. Should've been near-impossible to decide.

But, it both annoyed and scared him the overwhelming clarity he felt for his decision. As terrible as it was to admit it, Wendy… couldn't satisfy him. Not that she wasn't enough as a partner. More so, there were just some needs left unattended to. It wasn't her fault. It wasn't anyone's fault. Just a matter of circumstances. She wasn't able to meet that need for him, nor he for her.

There was a pain; a searing jab in his gut at the thought. Guilt. Heavy, hard-hitting guilt driving into the side of his rib cage, gnawing at bone marrow and cartilage. It was a heartless mindset, he knew, and one only a man without humanity could live with. Even after everything they had been through- the years spent together, both romantically and platonically- he still found inside himself a willingness to betray her; insult her with this. He was spending too much time around Bill again.

A final look in the mirror: Pale skin. Dark bags. Cold, dead eyes. Dipper wasn't sure how someone could become attached to such a face, let alone grow broken-hearted afterwards. He felt like shit, to be sure. But, something else was there. Just left of his brain, along the outline of his frontal cortex, he felt a kind of sureness when he saw himself.

Who could possibly cry after losing this face? No one. No one would cry. It only gave her a way out if she discovered what he was doing to her; behind her back. In the dark of night. After cancelling plans or refusing to answer text messages. No one would miss this face. No one would miss him. And, didn't it levy the guilt Wendy would feel if she broke up with him? Their relationship was on the rocks, after all. How long did she plan on keeping this up before deciding it wasn't meant to be?

Of course. She would break up with him some day.

Wendy wasn't the marrying type.

Dipper came out after a moment more of contemplation, fighting against the weights in his stomach. Wendy sat on the couch, lying horizontally, comfortable in the familiar space. It was an old piece of furniture; the same cushioning from the Mystery Shack's living room, before Soos moved in, redecorated, and inevitably tossed it. Mabel decided to foster it, despite how it clashed with the rug.

"Ready?" Dipper addressed Wendy, who perked up instantly. The look of hesitant excitement on her face- like a coned dog seeing their owner- had his stomach flopping with dread.

"Ready as I'll ever be." She joked, bouncing from the broken sofa. "What took you so long?" Wendy grabbed her jacket; a flannel fabric, layered heavily with animal furs and skin, despite the rising temperature outside. Dipper almost broke a sweat at her question, only to catch himself. He hadn't done anything wrong in there. Only thought, took a pill, and got dressed. It was his later intentions alone that made him feel so paranoid.

"Oh- uh. You know me. Just-. Reading up on files and-. Stuff." His eyes shifted away from her as he rubbed the back of his neck, laughing.

Wendy gave him an odd look, but not one of suspicion. More concern. He'd been putting a lot of time and effort into work lately; Blubs sure wasn't helping, when he put Dipper on almost every case that sounded even border-line supernatural. He was definitely overworked. But Dipper, being the guy he was, could never turn down a case. He needed rest, though. Something to unwind, cool his head, really take things into perspective.

Wendy was happy to be the person that did it.

"Well, throw all that 'stuff' away for tonight, dude." Her voice was proud as she snorted, flicked his nose and grabbed his arm. She led him to the door. "You're about to treat your kickass girlfriend to a movie, remember?" Dipper leaned ahead to open it for her, but she was already pulling on the knob by the time he reached it.

Wendy always liked doing things herself. Which was fine; it just kept getting harder and harder to be a gentleman when she beat him to the punchline. Though, there was an odd gratefulness Dipper felt for her in those instances. It was almost endearing when Wendy went out of her way for him. Something that should have embarrassed him, but instead shot him with fickle lines of affection. Short, meaningless doses that rode through his back, into his brain. She was weirdly chivalrous for a woman.

"Oh, is that today? " Dipper acted coy, with a teasing tone of voice, as though to say ' Well, of course! How silly of you to ask if I'd remembered. How could I forget?' Even though he definitely had.

" Psh ! Yes, nerd. Today !" His remark had the desirable effect anyways, watching Wendy tilt her head back, laugh, and pull him in by the shoulder. She loved throwing her arm around his neck; it was a small reminder of the fun side of their relationship, and put Dipper at ease usually. Not this time. Instead, it channelled an unforeseen foreboding within him, the way she held him, like she'd never let go. She wanted him closer. Closer, still.

It was forced, even with her natural demeanor. The average passer-byer couldn't see it; the slight twitching of her lips; the dilated pupils; the burning of skin. It was pushed aside with one motion as she led with familiarity and pride. But, it was too cozy. Too lax, considering their lack of interaction the last few weeks. It was a silent plea, Dipper could tell, to put everything behind them. Even though he most certainly had, and it was Wendy alone that stayed in the past; refused to forgive herself. To move forward. She really did love him. Hurting him had almost destroyed her.

Their journey to the car was spoiled by unnatural conversation and too-quick dialogue.

"So, how was your week?"

"Good, I-."

"Did you solve the case?"

"Yeah-."

"That must have been hard, dude. Was it?"

"...It was-."

"What movie are we going to see?"

Every moment felt like it had to be filled with sound, and any instance of silence forced upon them immense awkwardness. Each question was without true interest; not being heard, processed, or cared about. It wasn't an attempt at cruelty, though. Rather, out of fear. Fear of silence. Wendy had never minded the silence before. In fact, she almost thrived in it. Where she charged up, recollected herself, and maintained a cool head.

Dipper couldn't help feeling she was trying to perform CPR on the conversation. True, genuine concern sprouted when he considered the possibility of Wendy losing herself to the conversation. Trying to strike up a talk like they used to, even though those days weren't gone. Even though things could still be said, and they could interact with honesty. Or, was that a lie? Yes, a lie. Perhaps things were different, then. Perhaps those days were done. Still, they pretended.

"Oh! Did you hear about Tambry? She's-.

"Pregnant."

" -Yeah . Robbie's freaking out about it."

"He would."

The drive to the theatre wasn't any more forgiving. Wendy talked the whole ride over; asking about work, Mabel, the past few cases. All familiar, but dissociated when she addressed them. Dipper grew tense, hearing the unprotected edge in her voice when she laughed, told an offhanded story, or just babbled on like a brainlet. He'd never seen her like this. It was unnerving to say the least.

But, what could he expect? He wasn't the only one going through something at the time; she'd been killing herself over their relationship for weeks, and hardly heard from him anymore. Still, it was almost surreal the way she 180'd on him so suddenly. Not cool, or relaxed, or natural. Instead, chatty and borderline frantic. Like there was only so much time to talk. But, they had all the time in the world, didn't they?

Getting in the movie was no exception. Wendy wasn't so awkward that she'd chat on at full volume, of course. But, she definitely had her moments.

" Would you look at the special effects? Someone sure liked explosions."

"Yup, sure did."

Like, what are they even doing, dude? That blood looks like ketchup-."

"Yeah-."

"You think they'll make a sequel-?"

"Wendy, it's a trailer. I don't know."

She held him close the entire time, and from the way she clutched him like a body pillow, it was almost impossible to shift around and get comfortable. Dipper had popcorn in his lap, which neither of the two took even a bite of. Nor were the drinks sipped on. He was tempted to fake a bathroom break, if only to bring circulation back into his arm, but something stopped him. Maybe it was the blatant affection. The overwhelming vulnerability. How her body language absolutely screamed for him to stay. But, somewhere deep, deep down, sprouting among the daffodils of guilt and shame, was a single, plush rose.

Pity .

Let it be known Dipper had no idea how the film ended, or who the main characters were, or even what the overarching plot was. It rivaled obsessive when she stood after the film, dragging him along to wait outside the women's restroom. But, at least he could rotate his shoulder in the time being. Had she always been so clingy ? No, he'd established that already. It was just a nervous break; like his. She wasn't being herself, wasn't thinking clearly. He had no right to judge her for the change in mood and mannerisms. After all, Dipper was partaking in his own way of coping with things.

"That movie wasn't half-bad, but… I'm not so sure it was a kid's film."

"Bollywood's a bitch-."

"Ha! Yeah, dude. For real." Wendy paused, looking out at the night sky before catching a glimpse of red paint. Dipper's car. She smiled, tugged him along, mistaking his hesitant jolt as one of surprise, and not disinterest in her touch. "I had fun, man. We should do this again sometime!" Wendy chirped as she led him to his car; she wouldn't be riding home with him. Her father was a frightening man after all, and he demanded to pick her up after every night out. It was the only way he could keep things celibate.

"I had fun, too. The movie was-... I liked the songs." Dipper's voice was unsure. Wendy frowned. She wiped it away quickly, pulling his car door open for him.

"I'll look up the names for you and send the links."

"You don't have to-."

"It's fine. I was gonna download them, anyways." But, she hadn't planned on doing that, nor would she have ever. The songs hadn't been very good. It was only by catchy tune that he caught onto either lyrics or tempo, far more concentrated on Wendy's overwhelming demeanor. It made him look connected to the scene, though. His eyes were watching the movie. His mind wasn't overanalyzing. And, if Wendy believed that much, maybe she would calm down as well.

"Have a safe drive, Dipper." Wendy smiled sadly, straightening from her bent position against the car's window. He smiled back, lifted a hand, waved.

"G'night." Dipper's tone was soft to her, almost sweet when he turned the key of his car. It was the only thing he could do that even barely made up for what he was about to do to her. This was all he could give her without sacrificing himself. He felt ridiculously selfish as he pulled out.

" Wait !" Wendy snapped back to him though, pressing at the end of his window when the vehicle started moving. Dipper pressed on the breaks, missing her toes before he could roll over her small digits. She sighed, knocking on the glass with a smile. Sad, sad eyes reflected back, only for a button to be pressed and the window to be brought down. He kept up his smiling, even as a lump drew against his throat. Wendy paused when the glass was finally all the way down, wetting her lips awkwardly as she looked away, down, and finally back at him.

"I love you." She passed on innocently, rubbing a hand on the back of her neck, rocking on her heels, resting an elbow in her hand. Again, a twist of searing pain broke through his system as he stared at her, unmoving, still pressing down on the window's mechanics. Dipper's mouth became remarkably dry. When he made no motion to speak, just looking and blinking, an odd, tortured expression passed along her features, forcing a knee jerk reaction from his lips. He shook his head once, laughed, and looked up at her where she stood.

"I love you too, Wendy." And, he did. He had to. To love her. To say he loved her, whether or not it was even possible anymore. At this time, on this day, he had to admit: the answer wasn't comprehendible. If he loved her so much, why was he still going over? Why was he still anxious to fall into another being's arms? A man's , at that. Why- despite the tsunami of pain, guilt, shame and fear swirling around in his chest, berading him; insulting and hissing- did he check his watch every three minutes? Why did he care if he kept Bill waiting? Why did he want to see the man again, and see so much more of him?

Could he still love someone, while being so vulgar?

Wendy leaned in on him, placing a chaste kiss against his lips, and an almost painful cry rung out in his mind. It felt like ripping skin from a squealing pig; heartless. Inhumane. Unnatural. The single touch had him burning on the inside with sirens, warnings, and wales of discontent, telling Dipper to get away from this scene. To wash his hands of the whole event. And, not because of guilt or regret or fear. No. Because that kiss, as sweet as it had been, felt like the most disgusting thing. He couldn't stand the heat behind them; the dryness. The chipped skin. The plastic smear of lipstick. How it lingered, imprinted, and lasted. It took every ounce of willpower not to roll a sleeve across his lips.

"Good night, Dipper." It seemed to have a different effect on Wendy, by the way she lifted her fingers, touched her lips, and almost savored the sensation of soft, delicate skin against hers. She turned from him, taking periodic glances behind her when she crossed the street, reentered the theatre, and waited for her father to pick her up.


	30. The Only One

The drive over couldn't have been more horrible; like the universe warning me with the most pain-in-the-ass cliche of all time: Zaylor Twist. The used-to-be country good girl gone sex symbol after eight years of producers and pop culture breathing down her neck, singing about yet another heart break. Something about trouble. I rubbed a hand over my eyes, clenching as the monotonous melody dragged against my gut.

'Thought you were the one~!'

'But, now things are done~!'

'Caught you with my friend~!'

'Guess this is the-.'

I switched stations.

'You broke my heart, heart, heart~!'

'Tore it all apart-part-part~!'

'Saw you with that girl-girl-girl~!'

'I thought I was your world-world-world~!'

My hand twitches, growing wet along the nails when I once again turned the dial. Dumbly enough, every song held some kind of broken, half-assed cry for revenge over another's ex, and all of them had cheated. Fuck. I switched to AM radio.

" -caller from Austin, Texas. This is Romcom Station, here to dive into all that deep dish you got for us. You cook it, we serve it. " A smooth, feminine voice purred through the speakers. There was a moment- a pause, as the caller cleared her throat awkwardly, shifted the phone, and began.

" Hey- hi, so-. My boyfriend Chad's been acting really weird lately- ."

" Aw, giiiiiiirl! You know what he doin'! Dump his ass! "

I almost swirved off the fucking road.

Screw it. No one listens to the radio anyways. I slid my finger down the dial's comb-like edge, bringing the volume to a complete, absolute zero. Like me, I guess. I worried my bottom lip, tossing a glance to the empty seat beside me; my phone broke the silence every so often, flashing white across the screen, dinging with the shrill chirp of a dying robin.

'B: Don't keep me waiting. I've got…'

The message trailed off, cutting Bill's text into more of a preview than a statement. I'd have to enter the app if I wanted to read the whole thing; no way was I doing that on the road. Still, it was an obnoxious temptation, wondering exactly what he had for me.

Another ding.

'B: What are you wearing? You…'

My eyes shifted from the road, looking at that single message. Giving him my number had definitely, definitely been a bad idea. Not just because, whatever he had texted, it had to go into the recycle bin, pronto- before anyone else could see- I couldn't think like this. Now wasn't the time to entertain that dick's short attention span; it was game planning. I could still turn around, still make things right-.

' B: Hope I didn't scare you off…'

-With Wendy. Keep things honest. Come clean, even. Maybe she'd forgive me; considering our history together, there was probably enough trust to cash in on. But, something like this-.

' B: I wonder if you'll be able to take me. It's…'

\- Could break the bank. It wasn't normal. Something like this was… wrong. Cheating was wrong. Cheating is wrong. And, after something so devastating in our relationship, things would be hard to rebuild. Near-impossible, actually. Getting caught was pretty much my way of throwing in the towel. The chance at a future; kids. A wife. A well-rounded relationship with Wendy and her extended family. And, no-.

' B: Cops have handcuffs, right? Do you…'

-Bill. No more arguing; shit-eating grin or insults. No more smoking, or groping, or weirdly placed comments about Mabel. Hell, that was an upgrade, for sure. No more kissing up to Blubs, acting a saint, tying my tie-.

' B: Five more minutes. Be a good…'

No more mystery solving together. No more witty banter. No more blond hair, brave eye, or slick mannerisms. No more laughs, kicks, or genuine, irrefutable confidence flooding my system when he stood, gestured, and offered to help; because Bill was an ass. Always a piece of shit, but never so much that he'd turn down a chance to show off.

' B: You're trying my patience, kid…'

There were things that could never be forgiven, though. Bill was temporary. Wendy, a constant. He has never, nor would he ever, show actual interest in me as a person; outside of the bedroom, at least. It only made sense to pick the fail-proof option over something as fickle as sexual arousal. Still, not as appealing…

' B: Bill sent an image .'

"Oh, God. " I groaned, looking at my phone with hesitant temptation.

Eyes on the road, Dipper. Eyes up, on the road, away from that .

' B: Something to keep you company.'

I tried to growl at the message, but the sound struggled up my throat; caught, tightened, and inevitably released itself as a pathetic half-snear, half whine.

"That fucking guy." My eyes snapped shut, only to peek back open; his place wasn't too far from here.

It was still possible to turn back, though. Bill was the worst, after all. No, that wasn't right. Pacifica was the worst. But, Bill… He was the kind of guy to manufacture 'the worst.' Everything wrong or awful, he pretty much got a ten out of ten hard on for; maybe that's why this whole situation was so appealing to him. He liked the toxicity. He thrived on it. And, if I got too attached, there was no way coming out of it alive.

'Attached.' Yeah, right. There was no way either of us were that stupid. Sure, we'd fool around for a little- get a coffee afterwards, even- but, who could be so susceptible? Sex was so disconnected, after all. The physical plain, not emotional. There was always a possibility, though. Bill didn't seem like the cuddling type, but he was full of surprises. What if he fell for me? Again: Experimental. Who's to say he didn't feel like keeping me for himself?

One shake of my head had that thought gone.

I was overthinking things. I wasn't much of a catch, for one. And Bill, no more affectionate than a drug needle. There would always be that line, no matter how many times we crossed the others. Because Bill was a dick head; there wasn't a damn thing that could lower my standards for him. Ever.

I pulled onto the designated street, wavering at the stop sign. This was happening. Tonight, I was doing something completely, absolutely humiliating. No matter how I looked at it- even in my wildest dreams, trying to fathom the most basic of compromises- I didn't think Bill intended on receiving. Taking into account our last… times, something told me he already had the roles figured out.

Shit. Was I prepared for this?

A part of me wanted to fight the whole thing. Nothing had even been said about it, but damn if it wasn't obvious. I guess it made sense; he was taller, after all. Or, was that not it? Probably not. There was a bit more to it; Bill absolutely reeked of dominance. It could've just as easily been a ploy- a mask- a disguise- to keep his sweet insecurities under wraps. But Bill, being the man that he was, didn't seem to have that kind of weakness. On the contrary, he was too confident to enjoy the company of. It was repulsive.

Maybe arousing.

Definitely annoying.

Either way, I knew what he had planned for tonight. At least, I was pretty sure . There was no telling with that guy. Not until it was too late. The thought had my stomach twisting, and I forced myself to believe it was in fear, and not excitement. A shock. The lingering of a tingle in the pit of my stomach. I could feel my heartbeat shift, pause, and continue when I let out a huff.

I'd never live it down if I got a boney here.

I took a breath, shook my head, and pulled into his apartment complex's parking lot. It was a surprising space; the building was pretty much only booked by tourists. Permanent residents never stayed here long. But, Bill didn't necessarily live in Gravity Falls, anyways. He'd been called up, hired by the GFPD, and assigned one case. One official case, at least. Bill would be gone after it was solved, considering how heartless he was; wouldn't hesitate to leave everyone he'd met here behind.

Don't get attached.

I know.

It was a simple spot, painted baby blue with sturdy, copper balconies, unlike the rusty fire escapes of my apartment. The entrance was glass, dimmed on the inside, but shining overhead with golden lights outdoors. Sharp crickets chirped aimlessly as the sun drew low, replaced with the cool blow of nightfall, as too a kind of impatience grew on me. I kept myself calm, taking slow, calculated steps when the image of Bill overlooking me from his balcony crossed my mind. He'd only tease me if I rushed myself.

Glancing up to the balconies, I saw no one. I did, however, see separate items hanging along each railing. Flower pots, damp rugs, LED lights; all exposed with a tacky, half-assed attempt at charming. One balcony, unlike the rest, was left bare. A faint smile ghosted my lips, something just short of fondness passing through my vessel when I saw it. Of course Bill would go without decorations. He was too practical, and the action only wasted energy. Hell, I agreed.

Entering the complex, I saw a large wooden desk pressed off to the side, seated in front of little cubbies that housed designated room keys. The man placed there, in all his gerthy, billowing fat, was only brightened by the practiced grin he'd acquired over years of welcoming guests. My eyes shifted towards him, and a knot planted itself in my gut.

A witness.

Still, the desk man said nothing of my presence, only lifting a hand to signal towards him. A friendly wave, a small chuckle and a nod of the head as greetings.

"Evening, Pines." He nodded with familiar eyes, but for the life of me I couldn't tell where I knew him from, if I knew him at all.

" Hey ." I said simply, lifting a hand of my own. My grin felt lopsided, ingenuine and gross; I hoped it didn't look quite how it felt. By the way the man's eyes lingered but did not bore, I gave myself a pass. Still, he was an onlooker. He could easily take a tally of whoever entered this place, and however long it took for them to leave. How long would a quick fuck be?

I felt queasy, picking up my pace as I snapped my eyes away, dipped behind a corner, and escaped his line of vision.

He doesn't know he doesn't know he doesn't know.

He knows he knows he knows.

I swore under my breath, rubbing my right palm over my jacket to dispel any sweat. My finger jammed the elevator button with the repetition of a machine gun, hardly caring if the effort was poorly spent; I needed to get my energy out somehow. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. Well, Hell. Of course it was. But, was the prize worth the tax? Trying… this? With Bill of all people? Hurting Wendy? Risking exposing myself? Was it worth it?

Think about your reputation, Dipper. This could change everything.

Imagine it: Bill, shirtless, hovering over you with that cocky grin of his.

What would mom and dad say if they knew? You know what they'd say. You do.

The hot, thick slide inside of you. Tightening, releasing; driving you insane.

You haven't done nearly enough research to make this enjoyable. You're still green. You'll fuck it up for sure.

Bill giving it to you, and you just taking it; deep inside you. Whatever he gives, you take, and you love every second of it.

What about Wendy-?

-burning hot inside of-

-you really willing to ruin your life for-

-submitting yourself like a little-

-self respect over-

-taking it-

-stop it-

-yes-

-no-

The elevator doors opened. I stood still, finger pressing 'up' absentmindedly. Go in, or stay? Bill? Wendy?

Myself?

What do I want?

What do I want? No matter the consequences; even if it kills me afterwards. What can I do to feel alive for now? Pausing, I let my hand drop from the button, staring darkly at the metal box before me. I took a step back, then two, only to feel the unmistakable pull of something greater. 'Come along' it went.

I stepped in, both burning and numb as the doors closed behind me. A chill ran up my spine; I stiffened as a dark realization seeped through my clothes. This decision was far easier to make than previously assumed. Even if I fought against it- debated, denied, and discouraged the idea- the choice had already been made; I hadn't planned on changing my mind once, no matter what happened. It was all to calm the guilt. I swallowed, drew a hand over my shirt, and pressed for the fourth floor.

This is a bad idea.

One that can only end in disaster.

Doors closed, opened, and exposed me to the narrow expanse of pale-teal carpeting, patterned with the naive draw of geometric shapes; squares, circles, triangles. I stepped out slowly, making an odd path for myself when I placed my right foot on a rectangle, and the other on a hexagon. No triangles. I probably looked off balance then, making my calculated journey from the elevator to room 618. But, to me, it was the only thing to keep me up right; a kind of revenge, avoiding them. Standing tall, in control. Not touching, but glaring mightily below me. It was a good distraction.

At least I wasn't as bad as that guy.

I placed a hand against the plastic walling, feeling the sharp bumps of silicon under my fingernails, trying to steady myself. His door was much closer to the elevator than I would've liked. It gave me far less time to prepare myself. Who was I kidding? I'd never be prepared for this.

Room 618; mahogany dooring. A golden doorknob, scraped and scratched from years of drunken key-handling. Clean, polished numbering. I lifted my hand from the wall, instead going to trace them with my index.

' This is where it all changes.' I thought to myself, biting the smooth layering of my bottom lip. ' The point of no return.'

I knocked once-twice- and waited, placing my hands behind me. I rocked on the backs of my heels, tilting my head either way to see if anyone was in the hallway, peeking out of their door, or simply watching from a surveillance camera. Not enough time to obverse; just as I'd started contemplating a second, less friendly knock, the door came open. And there, in all his ass-holish glory, was Bill. Smiling, running a hand through his hair, swirling the jack rose in his glass like a reward when he saw me, as though to suggest a win on his part.

' You actually came.' His expression spoke, making me both scowl and flush.

"Traffic?" Bill asked simply, leaning against the doorframe. He was a bit more casual this night, without his suit jacket or bow tie. Instead, a plain white button up and black slacks. Fancy of course to a guy like me, but far less extravagant than his usual gear. I snorted.

"Just let me in, jerk." I made my way past him, wary of prying eyes catching me outside like this; it wasn't a good look. My chest broadened, shoulders rolling back as I nudged him out of the way to make myself at home. Bill, being a complete dick, only smiled, chuckled and rode a confident hand up my rear as I passed. I would've yelped if that were the limit of our content. But, this was far less than what we'd already done, and lightyears from what we planned on doing next. Why so modest?

He closed the door with a chuckle.

"You're late." Bill sang cheekily, circling his finger out and towards my face. It flickered, only to place itself peacefully against my nose, making me cringle up. I slapped his hand away. "What's a guy gotta do to get some punctuality around here? You're never late for work. Why be late now?"

"What? Did I worry you?"

"Of course!" Bill grinned, placing an arm around my shoulder. It was almost friendly; platonic. But, by the way his fingers gripped at me, held me, thumb rubbing circles over my collar bone, the familiarity quickly rose in heat. He leaned down a little, still keeping a soft distance between us; he knew not to be forward. It'd only push me away. "Thought I might be alone tonight." He cooed.

"Keep it up, and you will be." I unwrapped myself from his embrace. His arm lowered from my shoulder, but did not retreat. Instead, it slid. Down, down, and down farther, before reaching my waist. Bill chuckled at my empty threat, trying to bring me closer.

"Is that so-?" I yanked myself from his grip, growling at him.

" Don't touch me ." I snarled with bare teeth. That only made Bill laugh.

"Well, that's certainly a contradiction! I thought we were gonna get freaky tonight. And after I went to the trouble of sending you those texts, too." He pouted, but the malicious falsehood only sat, spoiled, and rotted along his teeth. Those texts. Those damn texts ; they were a distraction in of themselves, even when my mind was occupied. And, what's worse, they were tempting . To think, I wanted to hear from him- hear of him- was yet another battle lost to him.

I hadn't looked at my phone, nor did I intend on it; whatever he'd sent couldn't have been good. Into the garbage they would go. Eventually. For now, they only filled my inbox with whatever vulgar, uncensored dribble Bill intended on keeping me up with. Hadn't that been stupid, though? What if someone besides me had seen them? What if we'd been caught?

Damn it all. He didn't care. Bill's reputation was too complex, and far too secretive to alert the locals. But, me? It'd destroy me.

He tried wrapping his arm around my waist once again. I scooted away. He scoffed, rolling his eye.

"You serious right now? Calm down, pine tree. It's just a little contact." Bill offered, taking a swirl of his drink.

"'A little contact.'" I mocked. "You do realize what we're about to do, right?"

" Yes." Bill drew his answer out with a long, condescending tone. "So, let's get to it! What's with the hesitation, hun?" His hands went up, fluttering out. "Getting cold feet?"

" **No.** " My response was too quick, and it only forced Bill's features to darken. Maybe I was getting cold feet, just a little. But, it wasn't because I didn't want to. God knew I wouldn't be here if, for some reason, I wasn't a thousand percent onboard with these arrangements. If I was being completely honest, the whole situation was sort of… exciting. In a weird, messed up way. That was just it, though.

I was excited. I wanted this. And that being the case, I couldn't think things through the way I usually did. This was reckless, and dangerous, and more than a little immoral. And it fucking excited me. I couldn't mess this up. I couldn't misstep, because Bill's ass wasn't on the line. Mine was.

I had to look at the bigger picture; the future. What could I do to save my neck without throwing away this affair?

"It's just-." I paused, looking to the couch in the corner. Maybe I'd sit there one day. More than likely, we'd have at it on the cheap leather. One day. Tonight, maybe. Or, tomorrow. Invite me over, and plan something completely new for us. Every time. Because, this was Bill; the experimentalist. And, he was up for almost anything. "If we're gonna do… this-." I gestured between us. "-we need to set up some ground rules."

"Ugh! Don't go making rules !" Bill groaned. "We've been over this before, haven't we? No relationship. Got it. Good; let's just get to the action already." He put his hands on my shoulders, cradling his glass awkwardly against my cheek. I rolled one hand off, but let the other stay. He had to listen to me.

"You're not getting any if we don't talk about this. Now." A strangled snort. Bill's teeth bared in a frustrated grimace, his grip tightening. He looked at me with a testing stare, searching for the faint wisp of a bluff. My eyes remained hard. Looking back at him with a challenge of my own, back straight, brows set, piercing the heavy sheet of confidence he usually dressed himself with. And, drawing past the bold curtain, I caught the barest of vulnerabilities. A drugged, impatient need Bill had been cradling for so long now.

He hadn't started waiting this morning; to reach his apartment. Or, Monday, when he'd made plans for us. Not even the week prior; the day this had all started. No. He'd been waiting much, much longer. Flirting. Touching. Petting and playing. Whether or not he would admit it, Bill had been anticipating this. He was eager. I could use that.

As suspected, Bill's usually stubborn demeanor shuttered -hardened- only to fall apart shamefully. He scowled with a look bordering rage. Taking a final drink, head tilted back, eye shifting from me, he finished his glass. The taste made him gloom, setting his empty cocktail on the coffee table. Bill took a breath, looked into my eyes- still determined. Still not bluffing- and crossed his arms with a huff.

" Fine. " He said simply. I couldn't help but smirk, setting my hands on my hips.

" Thank you. " I chirped fakely. Bill scoffed with a crooked grin, rolling his eye. I cleared my throat; wet my lips. "Number one: No more office-stuff."

"What?" He asked, cocking a brow. I sighed.

"You know. No- ." I trailed off, my hands once again flying out between us. " Stuff. During office-hours. It's unprofessional." Bill laughed at me.

"What part of this relationship is professional?" I ignored his questioning, instead moving down my list.

"Number two." I put two fingers up. "No ' I love you ' during sex. Not even on a whim."

"I'm not the one you need to tell that to." Once again, Bill laughed, and I couldn't help but flush at the suggestion. I'd never really done this. Sex. But, Bill. Bill was trained. He was way more prepared for the intensity than I was, if I was prepared at all. Last time had been an absolute disaster on my part; I couldn't help but say the most vulgar, humiliating things that came to my mind. They just tumbled out. I couldn't catch them, and at the time, they'd seemed like the right things to say.

'So big.'

'I want it.'

'I'll be good.'

But, they weren't. They were stupid. Cheap, and in poor taste. It'd only amplified the feeling, in exchange for the bit of dignity I promised to never give anyone. And, I'd given it to Bill. Those filthy words. How was I supposed to control my mouth during sex, when I couldn't even handle fully-clothed grinding? It was worrying.

I pushed the thought away, starting on the next one.

"Number three." Three fingers up. "Texting is reserved for night, okay? No morning messages."

"You say it like I'm even thinking about you in the mornings." He snorted. "No problem, toots. Texts are reserved for sex only. Got it."

"And, only after eight."

"Yeah, yeah, sapling. I know what night is."

"Number four-."

"Yeesh, kid! How many rules are there?!" Bill threw his hands up. I shot him a hardy glare, and his demeanor- whether cautious of losing the sex, or the genuine heat I built up behind my eyes- lightened. He only sighed, let his hands fall, and gave me a patronizing grin. "Continue." I cleared my throat.

"Number four." Four fingers. " This- ." I threw my arms out, gesturing to everything. Him, me, his furniture; all of it. "-is over by the end of summer, got it? After that, no more texting, no more talking, no more sex. " And, I saw him hesitate. Just slightly, the deep waiver of protest. No . Keep it going. Keep this going. But, how could I, with Wendy in the mix? It was all temporary, I reminded myself. He and I could never be-. Not that either of us wanted to be. Still, the idea of letting this go did have its effects.

Bill's chest became rigid, only to relax. He was quick to hide his disappointment, just as I had done. In his eyes- his gaze- I saw a dim resolve. The rule wasn't ideal, but it seemed to work in his favor somehow. A kind of secrecy about the expression he pulled, like calculating my words, adding them up, and determining what it entailed for him; how it helped him. Because, by the end of the summer, we wouldn't be partners anymore. He'd go his way, and I'd go mine. We'd separate, and have plenty of time to get used to the idea. He was only acknowledging the maturity behind my decision.

At least, that was what I had thought.

Bill spoke after a time of silence, nodding in agreeance. His grin was far too pleased for me.

" Deal ." He responded, putting his hand out. It was that- the simple gesture. The confidence burning behind it- that almost stole my soul. To seal it; make it official. Who'd even come up with this notion that shaking hands made anything official? It meant about as much as a high five. Still, Bill offered it. Like someone as dishonest and ingenuine as he could keep his word. It was laughable, to say the least.

And yet, I found my hand reaching for his. A moment's hesitation was counteracted by Bill's palm making the extra mile. He squeezed softly, coupled with a heat far higher than normal. His fingers were hot, as was his palm. Did his whole body feel like that? Even close to experiencing it, I tried not to entertain the thought. Instead, I focused on squeezing back, a bit harder than he had. Perhaps establishing roles, though the effort was pointless.

"... Okay ." I managed softly, the warmth of his hand far too pleasant, and it only gave me ideas. Awful, terrible, arousing ideas. I tried to slip my hand back, tired of this whole chase; cat and mouse, I heard ringing in my ear. But, his grip only tightened. I looked up with an expression between annoyance and unsurity, only to see Bill pull a coy grin.

" Where are **you **going? " He purred, only to bend, lower and kiss the back of my hand. And, those lips- those fruitful, spiteful lips- were somehow hotter than the space of heat trapped between our joined palms. I flinched at the action- tightened- before letting out a broken laugh when his kisses travelled along my knuckles. Down my fingers, over my thumb, fast as a clicking pen when he rode effortlessly from my wrist to the inner bend of my elbow, trailing hot, soft kisses all the way to my shoulder. His breath tickled, close enough to burn my neck.

" Ha- ." A dry laugh, deprived of any real humor. The last two times, he'd gone for my mouth; deep, slick tongues burying themselves in each other's homes. Relentless, unrestrained, dependent on the other's cooperation and skill. It was a slight shock- though, not unpleasant- when he decided to pepper me with kisses. Not as extreme or intense, but enthusiastic. And, it was that- the way he rode from my fingers to my shoulder; slow, trained, calculated- that told me he planned on savoring this night. Taking his time. Making sure my official 'first' was a memorable one; one I'd chase for a second night.

His hand went to lift the short sleeve of my shirt, as though the simple press of flesh against lips was addicting. Maybe it was; every instance he drew away- a millisecond of lost contact- had me turning cold without those lips. It was almost nothing, with butterfly-soft flitters along my flesh.

But, still.

His kisses grew sloppy, more demanding as he trailed his tongue over my shoulder, down to my collarbone; nipping playfully at my skin, forcing something high from my throat. Was that… my voice? Dear God, no. Thankfully, Bill had been too busy biting at my skin to notice. He finally got a proper wrap around my waist, just as he'd wanted, and pulled me so much closer. Our hips met, and alerted me of the thick cock already at half-mast.

Something inside me shook; quaked in realization of what I was pressing against. This… Was going to be inside me. Not in my mouth, or held firmly between appreciative hands, or even just pressed against me, close, but non threatening. No. It would be a threat. Hot, like his fingers. Like his lips, and I'd take it. Whether or not it hurt, or I cried, or even tore . I was set on going all the way. With some guy I'd met a month ago, and hated like nothing else.

Which was massively fucked up.

With his body so much closer, it made me follow through on reflex, bringing my arms up and around his shoulders. Holding him close, feeling that tongue of his slide to the hollow of my collar, up my adams apple, and suck teasingly at the underside of my throat. I couldn't help but snicker at the heavy kisses tickling against my jawline, drawing to either side of my cheeks for small, yet possessive pecks.

Bill knew damn-well I was ticklish, and he'd always liked pushing my buttons.

A sharp bite to my jugular silenced all giggling, forcing out instead a surprised gasp, followed by a groan. I snaked a hand in his hair, clutching softly as he once again drowned my neck in kisses. Far more delicate than the last time, like worshiping flesh. Bill chuckled darkly, and it was only when he used a tactically placed hand against my rear to pull me even closer, that I realized how hard I'd gotten as well.

" You **enjoying **yourself ?" The bare huskiness in his tone made my knees buckle. But, I couldn't give in. Not like last time. I'd sounded like a complete idiot back then, and no amount of liquor seemed to completely wipe my own pathetic whines from my brain. I willed a glare, weak as it was, lifting his head from my chest to become eye-level. That cocky grin was absolutely vibrant.

" Shut up." I sneered before pressing our lips together. Bill didn't skip a beat, leaning in with a smirk as I finally returned his kisses. It wasn't as enjoyable- feeling his mouth stretch into a tight grin- to smooth against him like this. I huffed, trying to break the ever-satisfied expression he wore; adding pressure, pulling him closer, sliding my tongue against his bottom lip. It was then that he caught me.

Literally.

His mouth opened, baring primal white teeth, only to snag loosely onto my tongue. I yelped, feeling his fronts hold me there, just short of gnawing- chewing. My back muscles hardened, forcing me to straighten out against the electric pain. Luckily, I wasn't so quick that I'd yank away; that'd only make for trouble. It forced me to breath, stay still as he looked me in the eye, the same damn smile across his lips. I felt his tongue against the thick bit of mine trapped between his teeth, and felt honest, unrestrained fear. Arousal too, of course. But, mostly fear.

That eye expected me to submit instantaneously.

He alleviated the pressure soon after, pulling me in by the back of my neck. Sucking on my tongue, eliciting throbs of pain as the kiss turned coppery; He'd bitten me a bit harder than I thought. The taste stung against my taste buds, even more so when I actually heard Bill moan . The taste. The taste of blood.

Yeah. We were fucked up.

He moved ahead, forcing me to walk backwards until my shoulders bumped the wall. A small gasp, feeling the deathly chill of dried paint against our inflamed skin, gave reference to just how hot we'd gotten. I tugged him closed, taking the initiative as I angled his head just right, deepening the kiss. My fingers took bits of his hair, pressed them close, and rolled them between my nails.

Bill had such a great taste, even being the smoker he was. If anything, the subtle burn of tobacco was almost a fond flavor. Heavy, savory, mature - It felt so good when my tongue flicked up, to the left- right- and caught a patch of lingering smoke. I shivered, groaned, couldn't help but think of our first act of intimacy. In his car, late at night, forced to swallow Bill's cock, all the while he watched me; not ashamed. Never ashamed. Just happy to finally shut me up.

Something that should've annoyed me, instead cradled my pleasure.

He caught my hands in his hair, lifting them away from his scalp, instead raising them above my head to press against the wall. I whined just barely, feeling without touch when the heat of his head wasn't between my hands. The noise went without notice, only pushing his tongue father still to muffle even the clearest of sounds. A sharp twitch between my legs had him once again grinning like a bastard. My shoulders bunched up, rotating my wrists in his grip, but I had no intention of trying to break free. Those hands- firm, wide, and growing wet with sweat- was the pinnacle of my contact.

I needed more.

Pushing aside my reserve, I willed a slight thrust of my hips- something Bill was too willing to acknowledge. Instead of speaking, he angled his pelvis forward as though to thrust. I gasped though, feeling him lean against my erection and capture it between bodies. He didn't move; only pushed, leaned, and forced my entire back against the wall, so I could neither squirm nor thrust. I whimpered, trying to sway my hips from side to side. Bill was like an immovable force, stationing me, restricting me. I let out a deafening cry of frustration in spite of myself. He chuckled, recoiled from me, and snapped his hips forward, forcing my head back.

" Shit! " I cried, panting against his lips.

" Something wrong, baby? " Fuck, that goddamn voice . I shivered, my knees giving out below me, kept up only by the hands that encaptured my wrists. He called me baby. Not that he'd never done it before, but this was so much different. So much closer.

I wasn't sure I could keep up with him, the way things were going.

He was just standing there, doing this to me. And, he wanted to. To touch me. In the most intimate, exposing ways. He wanted what I wanted, and was willing to give it to me. If only he'd get past all the build up. If only he'd stop kissing and start fucking. Whatever it felt like- to have Bill's warm dick throbbing, pulsing, sliding in and out, impatient; uncaring- I couldn't imagine a more perfect sensation.

There was so much to be felt. So much to experience, and all I had to do was ask. A little pride was worth it, I decided. Feeling those lips- hot, hungry- kept me motivated.

" God, Bill. Just **do **it already ." I knew he understood. A part of me feared him dragging it out longer than it needed to be; 'What do you mean?' 'Do you know how to ask properly?' 'Hows about a little 'please?'' But, he was far too wound up to tease, his breath coming in ragged pants now. He lowered one of his hands, keeping my wrists pinned up by his left, cursing when he couldn't get his belt off as easily. He managed eventually, sliding the brown leather away with a lightning fast swipe.

Back to kissing. For a moment, rolling his hips, biting my neck, only to undo the buttons on his pants, lower his zipper, and flat-out whip it out.

Fuck. It was so close, the heat was palpable.

I pulled at my wrists, signalling for him to let go. Bill did, letting my hands fall away, getting to work on removing his shirt. I was panting now, feeling the heavy tingle of my arms when they were finally released. The blood flow no longer had to fight its way up, and so rushed through my limbs with a new-found purpose. Battling the odd sensation, I stripped away my own tee. The cold of Bill's wall hit my back, and a shock rode through me when I leaned against it, undid my belt buckle, and eventually kicked my pants and underwear from my legs.

And Bill, shameless as always, watched the entire thing.

We stood there, huffing, naked, simply leaning against each other and moaning into each other's mouths. Once again, he pushed me against the wall. But, did not keep me imprisoned by my wrists. Instead, he held me firm, not moving but squeezing, with his hand around my dick. I jerked involuntarily, but his hand only followed, refusing even the plainest of friction.

" Come on, Bill. Come on. " I whispered, trying once again to thrust into that hot hand of his. Bill wasn't a merciful partner, though. Never. He had plans for tonight. Some perverse fantasy he'd tried living out so many times in his head, it had to be the first one scratched off the list, lest he walk away unsatisfied. Again, he squeezed, making my thighs tighten, clench together and release. He looked at me with an expression not unlike a hunter.

Like I was prey.

" What's in it for me?" Bill asked.

" Fuck-! What do you think's in it for you?" He grinned. Tightened, released. I whined, grinding my teeth when the simple sight had me leaking an embarrassing amount of precum. An absolutely humiliating thought crossed my mind, but I refused the off chance that I might actually come like this. That was out of the question.

Bill leaned against my ear.

" Who knows? I've never done it with you. " He hummed charmingly, placing the softest of kisses against my cheek. " What are you willing to give me? "

" A black ey- **e **! " Bill squeezed much harder than last time, forcing my voice to raise. I tossed my head back, feeling the confusing swirl of searing pain and otherworldly pleasure mash in my gut. I hissed, swore, and bit down on my already-bloody tongue, trying to withhold any more embarrassing noises.

There was a pop; the plastic lift of a cap. My eyes travelled away from the single spot I'd trained my gaze on- a bit of mold from the ceiling- to look at what Bill was doing.

Lube.

Fucking lube.

I trembled, pulled in my lips, and was suddenly very conscious of the cold air hitting my wet tip. I gulped, but my mouth was so dry. It was beautiful in theory, what we'd planned on doing. So beautiful. Hot, fast, rough-. Completely terrifying.

" B-Bill. I-. " He shushed me.

" It's okay. I'll go easy on you… For now." Okay. So, Bill was officially a piece of shit. I just couldn't find it in me to care. I nodded my head, giving him a quick, sloppy kiss. My dick only hardened at the plush of his lips, the added pressure around me amplifying every second. A small tug, a jerk of the hand- one- made me catch along his lip, bite, and moan heatedly. Bill moaned right back, coupling it with a dirty chuckle.

" Gimme your hand ." The darkness in his voice, the depths of his tone-. I tried to thrust again, but he was back to holding, not guiding. My nostrils flared, sucking in a breath before finally lifting one of my dead arms for him. It was limp, held before his face like some gangly, weak form deprived of food and sunlight. Bill let go of my length, making me groan in frustration, instead capturing his wrist in his grasp. He forced my hand up, using his other to squeeze a gracious amount of lube into my open palm. Cold; freezing cold, but quickly warming in my hand. I looked at him curiously.

"What's this for?" My tone was honest. Not because I didn't know what lube was. God, I wasn't that green. But… I'd kind of expected him to-.

Bill only smiled, took my wrist and guided it between my legs. I gasped, almost pulling away at the sensation of my slick fingers, drawing over my dick, past my balls, stopping at-. He stationed me over the target, taking the initiative as he pulled my index finger out, placing it just over my… hole. Again, I almost pulled back. His grip was firm, though.

"Preparing you." It could've been the most arousing, most sexy thing ever said on the planet, if only Bill hadn't ruined it with yet another shit-eating grin. Because, damn if he didn't know I'd do it; put on a show. If only to get off on it.

"Bill. I-... I don't know how to do this ." My words came out rushed, quiet; a new shame rising out of me. I'd expected him to do the heavy lifting. Not the other way around. And, it was one thing to have sex. It was another to… masturbate. In front of people. Two different things. Two very, very different things. If my mouth had been dry before, it was the Sahara desert now.

"I know." Bill responded blatantly. I scowled at him, amazed at the fire I could still conjure in my current position. So, he meant to tease me? Fine by me, as long as he didn't mind getting himself off. My hand started lifting away from my own entrance-.

Bill's fingers caught me. Interlacing with mine. Rubbing, massaging- not touching the target, but squelching against my hand. Lube rubbed off of my palm, onto his hand, finally distributing the dripping pool of lube I'd been cradling. And, the way his wrist bumped against me-. I groaned, feeling the ball of his palm press into me. Fuck, this was going so slow.

Or, so I thought.

Once his fingers were finally coated in the substance, he picked at my middle finger, slowly guiding it over me. I huffed, feeling him add pressure to it, encouraging the digit in. A bit of the nail- just a little- forcing my entire lower region to clench around the finger. I cursed.

" Bill-. I said I've never-. " He forced my digit up a little farther, and with it, something else.

Bill's index.

" Ah-!" I clamped my mouth shut before something absolutely ridiculous could escape. My knees buckled, and it was by grace alone that I didn't collapse. That hand- those fingers- was so much hotter inside. And, so much more with two instead of one. The middle, mine. But, the index-. I looked down at the display, secretly distraught when I realized I wouldn't be able to see the point of intrusion. But, it didn't matter. I could feel it.

Bill pushed in, halfway down his finger, forcing mine along for the journey. I wasn't sure what to do, unable to look up from the scene before me; my hand between my legs, Bill egging me along. And, that eye- I knew he was watching me. The intrusion felt strange. Like nothing I'd experienced before. Wet, slick, and smearing my inner thighs when he pulled out, and pushed back in, forcing me to cry out.

"Oh-!" I steadied myself. " F-uck." I groaned, the feeling completely unexpected. As much as I wanted to stay in control- wanted to keep myself upright, mature- this scene was already building to something I hadn't anticipated. And, it was weird . His finger- my finger- smooshed together in the tightness of my ring. I hated to think it, because it was such a cliche thing to feel, but it was the only way to describe the sensation: full . I felt so fucking full.

He pulled away again, almost drawing our fingers out, only to shove back in. Farther, faster, all the way to the knuckle. I tried to relax my muscles, but my mind wouldn't let me focus. And, when Bill's finger made an odd angle, pulled out, shoved back in- and curled, I screamed.

"I'm guessing that hit the spot. " I groaned again, not only in pleasure, but to discourage his stupid joke.

" I hate- ." Another thrust. Curl. Cry. I bit my lip, rocking now against my own digit, as well as his. I could do it, I knew. I could stretch for him. Our fingers were no longer in sync. His went in, went out, swirled, curled. But, mine. Mine stayed, pressed, trying to find that magical spot Bill had discovered. Only he seemed to touch it, though. I huffed, trying to add another digit to the mix. " -you." I moaned dumbly, my index taking up the space Bill's finger had been in before. That didn't mean he couldn't fit. He definitely did.

" Shut up." Bill finally growled out, adding a second digit of his own. I gasped, but didn't lean away. My back arched, eyes rolling as the sensation became so much more. They touched everything. It was perfect. It was jaw-dropping. And, I was already so close-.

Bill pulled away, forcing me to whine.

" Wh-why did you-?" I must have looked so whorish with my fingers still inside, and even more when I tried sneaking my ring finger along. Bill didn't answer me. He simply grabbed me by the shoulders, pushed me down, and positioned me on my knees so I was face-to-tip with his cock. Which I'd given zero attention to. Oh. Right. It stuck out, full and proud, held up like a sweet treat. Something to lavish. To taste .

I looked up at him, my vision only obscured by his bobbing erection. His hand was already in my hair; yanking my head up, tilting it back to part my lips. But, there was no need. I would've opened all on my own. He slid in without hesitation or warning, starting up a rhythm far faster than necessary. He yanked me back, forward, fucking my mouth like it was the only thing he cared about. His tip hit the back of my throat several times, and with the continual assault, it had me choking out choppy, unflattering gags. Bill only groaned.

" Look at me." He said, his arm still pushing and pulling me around. I lifted my eyes just barely, unable to make out the full body pressing into my mouth, tears swimming through my vision. Bill yanked my head back, forcing my eyes up. I yelped along his cock, blinked the tears away, and stared up at the man before me; hot, fast, and smiling like a serial killer, pushing his hips in, at the same time pulling my face forward. I choked. He hummed.

" Suck. " Bill groaned out, levying the pressure on my scalp for only an instance before bringing my head back, against the wall, and fucking into my mouth again. And, as overwhelming as it was, the whole thing only got me going. I felt the fingers inside me twitch, stir, and start thrusting again. I hollowed out my cheeks for him, moaning in appreciation for how rough he was treating me.

Fuck. I needed to see a therapist.

Later. I'd do it later.

Right now, I needed to-. Something. I needed- this.

I wiggled my ring finger in, the mix of a giggle and a moan coating my throat with pride. Three fingers in, and it felt so fucking good-. Bill's cock slid from my mouth for a moment, going to press against the outside of my chin. He rubbed his tip against my lips, drew a line over the arches, only to thrust up against my cheek. His hand was guarded, pressing the hot length to the side of my face, building in friction when his pace only quickened.

I knew exactly what he meant to do here. Not just the inside. Not just my mouth, or my hole, but all of it. Every bit of skin, every nail, even the simple bounce of brown curls belonged to Bill in these scenes. When he could fuck what he wanted; my throat, my ass, my face. And, for the barest of moments, I completely agreed with him. I tilted my head, bringing my lips around to cup the side of his cock as he kept going, bringing me closer, burying my nose in a forestry of blond hair.

" I wish you could see yourself right now, pine tree." God, that name. I moaned, sucking happily against his cock again, only to abandon it. A question. Just- just needed to try something. I tilted my head down, approaching the space that separates Bill's dick from his own entrance-. The grip on my hair tightened when he looked down, cursed, and almost stared at me with hate.

" You fucking-." He thrust fasted, watching as I sucked teasingly on his sack. It was weighty against my tongue, flushed and expanding with every lick. I brought one into my mouth, making sure he saw me when I did it. I looked up, saw him look back, and actually look away. For once, I was the one smiling, and Bill had to take a second to himself before he blew his load in my hair. I wanted to know how far I could go- how much could fit. I sucked harder, bringing my hand up to massage the one outside of my mouth. I pressed with my tongue, sucked, even gave a little kiss-.

" You having fun?" Bill cooed down at me, and before I had time to catch myself, my head lifted and lowered with a nod. I hummed, fluttering my eyes, looking at him with nothing but admiration. The fact that I admired him-. Said a lot about what sex could do to a guy. Yes. Admiration. For owning me. Using me. Being in control. The power was so wonderful, it filled my senses, forcing my hips down on the digits still lodged inside of me. If it weren't for my mouth being stuffed full, I couldn't have guaranteed my pride's own safety. Fuck, I was still moaning like a moron.

A particularly harsh thrust- entangled in my hair, stimulating the tip- had him swearing up a storm, and just as it looked like he was about to give in- finally release all on me- he pulled away.

" Get up." Bill ordered, yanking my head from his crotch, and I actually whined. To him, Bill probably thought it was the pain of an abused scalp causing the noise, and so left the topic untouched. If only he knew, in the confines of my mind, I'd whined because I wasn't done. He hadn't finished on me- in my hair, over my face- and I wanted him to.

That was something for the vault.

I stood just as he told me to, my knees aching against the strain. He yanked my hand away, out of my hole, forcing me to clench around nothing. I grimaced, but remained otherwise obedient. The fact that he could do all that and still keep from finishing was both inspiring and scary. Bill leaned in, kissed me, tore at my lips until they bled, and I let him. In fact, I encouraged him.

" Y-yes… O-oh my-! F-u-u-u-c-k." I went to tangle my hands in his hair, only to feel his grip on my wrists. Without so much as a hiccup in motion, Bill had me spun around, pushing my chest against the wall. I gasped, feeling the cold wall now against my front, pressing along my sensitive nipples; they hardened instantly.

And, here we were. The final stretch. The ' new experience.' I heard the unmistakable pop of the lube bottle once again, looking over my shoulder just in time to see Bill wrap around his cock. He was delicate with it, like handling a loaded weapon. Which, in a way, he was. He was so close, the final satisfaction seemed to be being able to say ' I fucked Dipper Pines.' Which sounded fantastic.

He gathered my wrists up, pulling them behind my back, only to yank and draw them up, to the middle of my shoulder blades.

"Ah-! Bill, fucking-. That- h-urt." I hissed through clenched teeth. He chuckled back, pulling up just a little more. Just to watch me squirm in discomfort. Damn it all. This guy was-. He was-.

Well, he was Bill.

His free hand was low on reserves, quick to gather up my left cheek in his hand. I flinched, shivered.

" God, kid. I was scared it was just the latex that made it look so good. " Bill said, and that was the closest thing I would ever get to a compliment from him. " But, you're curvy all over, arencha?"

" F-... Fuck." I managed, feeling as he pulled my cheek open, exposing me. Bill let out a sharp, directed breath, making me yelp as it drew over my stimulated entrance. I clenched again, and this time, I knew he'd seen it. By the way his finger rode over it, something told me he liked the show.

There was a pause- the point of guiding his erection towards me with just one hand- before I felt something large. I was already too familiar with the organ to mistake it for anything but Bill. I sighed, shivered, spread my legs open just a little more, arched my back, and looked over my shoulder to see. Like that, he leaned in. Slow, wide, and long. I squealed, huffing as his head fought against the tightness of my muscles, and popped through to the other side. And, holy shit, it was already so much. I felt Bill lean in-.

" W-wait!" I gasped, trying fruitlessly to break from his grip. So, I only groaned, closed my eyes, and tried to focus on my mounting arousal. " Wait… Just-... Oh, god."

" Is it too big?" Bill leaned in, placing his chin against my shoulder, licking a strip across my cheek. I could feel his smug grin. " Don't think you can take it all, baby boy? But, you were so good with your mouth. Can't you handle a little more?"

The bastard.

Of course I could handle it. It's just-. So much. So much more than I could've ever expected, and he was just starting. I nodded my head, fighting his taunting remarks with a slight lean back; legs spread, back arched, hands captured, and neck craned to look at the man with rebellious features.

Hell yeah, I can take it. And, I'll spit in your face if you ever doubt me.

Bill growled, taking my push back as the invitation it was. He smiled, using his free hand to guide my hips against his waist. Thank god I'd stretched, because the length only seemed to get bigger the farther it went. He'd push in- pull out- and keep up the steady pace of filling me, until it boarded torturous. I could feel it, the blunt throbbing of his dick, slick and pulsing with every inch. It pressed against that one good place, and I couldn't help but angle my rear to slide against it.

He bottomed out after what felt like forever, cursing at the heat. If I'd felt full with only two fucking fingers-. Holy shit, this felt like being stuffed . My breathing picked up substantially, feeling the heavy twitch inside me. So perfect. So, so fucking pefect. I tilted my head to look back at him, his eye trained on the space connecting crotch to ass. I clenched intentionally, watching with pride as he squinted, hissed, and gripped my rear for stability.

He couldn't take it anymore.

Bill was quick to set a ruthless pace, snapping his hips back and forth, in and out- pulling my arms higher up my back, forcing me to scream.

" Ugh-! Bill!" I moaned, tossing my head up whenever he hit my spot. Relentless, sharp- pulling out and driving back into me with numbing purpose. My mouth fell open, noting the way I stretched around him. Like I was meant for this. Like I was meant for him. I willed the thought away, instead focusing on the hard cock drilling into me like a piece of meat. Because, God. Was it supposed to feel so damn good?

A sharp crack was heard. I moaned highly, looking back to see the red hand print he'd left on my ass. For fuck's sake, this guy never had enough. Again, he yanked my arms up, but I was so used to it by now, all I could do was groan, grind my teeth down, and press against him. Bill's hand went out, cupping my cheek, pinching, making me squeak undignified sounds of approval. His hand rode down my thigh to the back of my knee, where he grabbed me, lifted my leg up, and fucked me at a whole new angle.

And, damn. Was it a good one.

" Ye-s! Right there! Ha-harder!" Bill pushed in, I pushed back. Quick, rough, and without regard to personal space. My leg went up to press the side of my ribcage, his thrusts forcing my hard cock against the wall. I threw my head back, each one of his ramming motions bringing my dick to rub the cold surface; if only I could fucking touch it. His cock slammed into my spot again, and I had to bite down on my tongue just to keep from shrieking like a maniac. For all the screaming I'd done, this was probably the most wonderful thing I'd ever experienced.

He picked up the pace, slowed, angled himself to hit all the right spots, and pulled out just to tease me. Over and over again, he taunted me with this; how badly I wanted it. Needed it. And, how he was the only one who could give it to me. Fuck Wendy, it said. Fuck your job. Fuck Gravity Falls, and monsters, and your family. Fuck yourself. I'm the only thing you need now.

The only one.

" Fuck, Dipper. You're so damn tight." Bill cursed, snapping his hips forward. The slapping of skin filled the room, harsh smacks and slick cocks like a new genre of music Dipper could totally get behind. " You're just an obedient little puppet, arentcha? "

I couldn't respond, or even process what he'd said to my fullest capacity; the wall was literally polishing me with my own precum, and it hurt like a bitch, but felt so damn good. So hot. So cold. So thick, moving in and out, taking complete control; using me. Fuck-.

I tightened, the wall catching every shot of cum that didn't shoot up against my chest, and slid down to dangle around my belly button. My head was light; feathery, pooling in my brain like a rush of heat. I felt Bill, cursing, let my arms fall from behind my back, instead using his hands to grip my hips and absolutely ram me. I let it happen, flying through my orgasm with this amazing pressure filling, and emptying, and filling again. So quick. So harsh-.

Bill snarled, tearing his nails through my skin as he released inside of me. And, holy shit, I could feel it. The hot flood of cum inside of me, filling me, coating me, dripping down my legs or seeping into the depths of my body.

It was amazing.

I collapsed then, falling to my hands and knees when Bill finally drew his softening cock from within. I almost commented on his own resilience, only to watch as he stepped back, stumbled, and caught himself on the table, completely spent. At least there was that to be proud of. And, hey. I felt pretty damn good after that, though my arms and ass kind of stung. But, what was to be expected?

We stayed like that for a while, panting, gulping, trying and failing to catch our breaths, just staring at each other with unsurity. That'd been… Intense. I don't think either of us had expected that kind of a turn out. Bill wouldn't complain, though. He liked stuff like this, obviously. And, I-... Well, I guess I learned something about myself today.

I rose from the floor, legs wobbling, trying to remember where I'd thrown my pants in all the chaos. Bill shot me an odd look when I found them, putting my right foot in to slide them on.

"Going somewhere?" He cocked a brow my way, tilting his head curiously. I snorted, like he didn't already know.

"Uh, home, Bill. I've gotta go home."

"Right now?"

"Yes. Right now. I told Mabel I'd be back late, but-." I looked to the clock… Twelve AM. Holy fucking shit. We'd been at it for… A long-ass time. God, no way. "-not this late."

I bent down to pick up my shirt, knees still buckling underneath me, when Bill's foot caught against the fabric.

"I don't usually throw out my fuck buddies until the morning."

"Well, good morning, then. I've gotta head out." I shooed his foot away, and to my surprise, he didn't fight the gesture. Only glowered when I stood to put it on.

"Mabel won't notice you're late."

"Oh, she will. She definitely will." I countered.

"Just tell her you fell asleep in the lab. I've seen you do it before."

"Yeah, but I didn't fall asleep in the lab. I'm wide awake. See?" I took my fingers, stretching the lids open to showcase my orbs. Bill only snorted at me.

"You weren't at the lab at all, hot shot." Damn it. He had me there. "Just stay the night. Don't want you falling asleep on the road, after all. That wouldn't help either of our situations."

He put an arm around my shoulder, and I had to admit, the contact was nice. Warm. Cozy. I leaned into it involuntarily, only to jerk away when a realization hit me. The kind gesture would not go without payment. Looking up at his seemingly generous expression, I gave the worst scowl I had.

"You're just keeping me around for the morning-sex, aren't you?" Bill laughed, rustling my hair as the suggestion met his ears. His grin was too genuine. He couldn't even lie about it.

"You know me so well, pine tree."


	31. The Part Where Everything Changes

Mabel hadn't thought to set her alarm the night before; it was a Saturday. Still, it would have been good of her to wake up, get breakfast in, and prepare for the conversation yet to come.

Dipper was late.

So very, very late.

It wasn't any of her business what he got up to in his free-time. But, hadn't he promised to be back by ten? Last night? And, didn't he usually call in if work dragged on? She was never one to worry; freaking out never fixed anything, no matter how much Dipper disagreed. It was only by means of circumstances- Bill being back, and completely incognito at the time- that her stomach dropped when she dialed his number, and was met with his voicemail.

Had he turned off his phone?

Was the battery dead?

Did someone destroy it?

Mabel had tried getting a hold of Dipper's laboratory line, but the other end simply made her wait -ring- before going silent. What was to be expected, though? Her brother worked hard; it wasn't unlike him to get caught up in research. In fact, it may have been a bigger flag if he'd let the phone buzz, placed her on hold, before inevitably answering. Dipper was an anxious one. He was always quick to respond.

And, yet…

Mabel got out of bed that morning, surprised to find her usual cup of coffee hadn't been poured out for her; he was always around to brew a pot. She checked her phone: No new messages. Texted Wendy; Pacifica. Both said they hadn't heard from him the night before, but-.

Paz was a bit intrigued herself.

P: did he tell u where he was going last night?

P: has dipp talked 2 u anything? like, a secret or whatevr?

P: no reason just wondering

So, he wasn't at Wendy's, and wasn't with Pacifica. He didn't answer his office phone, and still wasn't returning her calls; never a good thing. It was an unspoken rule that the two would always get back at each other's messages, lest the other thought they were in danger. No matter the domestic cover- the quaint diner, the wooden housing, the fresh air- Gravity Falls was deadly.

An unboxed text could mean anything.

Mabel pushed the thought away, getting a thing of coffee ready. It had never been her favorite beverage; years and years of dental treatment, retainers, and braces had brought a cautious gloom around the drink. Stained teeth. Cavities . She'd worked so hard to keep her pearly whites -well- pearly. The violent spike of caffeine was enough to turn her mood sour, if not for mounds of sugar to counteract it. Which only made it worse.

She drank, though. As communion, perhaps. When Dipper made a quart, poured his fill, and -without thinking or asking for payment- went out of his way to serve her a glass. Out of courtesy; the nonchalant kindness her brother willed without thought, much unlike Mabel's less modest, more boastful displays.

Mabel hummed expectantly, training her eyes on the black stream as it drizzled from a dark pool of coffee. Out of habit, not taste, did she drink it. Wrinkling her nose, wafting away dry steam, sticking her tongue out as she tried, once again, to down the beverage without cream or sugar. Two spoonfuls- three. A dollop of whipped cream. And- though they'd been packed away since christmas- a candy cane to stir the contents.

If only to calm herself. Keep from watching the clock. Keep from expecting a call. She took a sip -sweet, tooth decaying goodness- before turning on the television. Kids' shows; a blue cat and his goldfish. A sea-square. Three bears stacked on top of each other. A princess from another dimension, accompanied by her bi-racial karate boyfriend.

Mabel's mind tried to soak it all in, but the content wouldn't stick. Only splattered against her brain; slid down the side before dropping off like a dirty rag.

Don't check your watch.

Don't check your phone.

Mabel sighed, taking another, less gracious swig of her beverage. She made sure to swallow it before the drink could sit, hit her teeth, and burn through the enamel. She made a mental note to brush them again, once she was done with the cup.

There was a sudden jingle. Just left of her, placed far away; muffled with the vague sureness of impenetrability. A sharp ' click' could be heard at the door, and Mabel all but fell out of her chair when hearing it. That wasn't just jingling. Those were Dipper's keys, testing themselves against the tricky design of their apartment's lock. He had a ring, decked out in shiny silver metal, each with a service of importance.

House key.

Car key.

Storage room key.

Spare key to the shack.

Laboratory key.

Even a key from either of his homes in Piedmont and Buffalo, which he no longer needed.

It always took him a while to remember exactly which one was for the apartment door. It didn't matter either way; Mabel was at the door by the time he'd gotten a third of the way through them all. She pulled at the knob, yanking forth softwood in time to watch Dipper- disoriented as always- trail along the key still jammed in the lock, clasped haphazardly between sweaty fingers. He made an awkward hop forward, following as his sister led the knob inwards, before letting go.

And he, odd as ever, straightened up; already sweaty. Already shifting under her unsuspecting gaze.

"Oh, uh. Hey . 'Morning, Mabes. You're uh-. You're up. " Dipper coughed into his fist, clearing his throat. He looked away from her, rolling back on his heels and smacking his palms together. "I thought you liked to sleep in on Saturdays."

"I… do? " Mabel responded, squinting her eyes at him. Not in suspicion. Rather, unsurity. Looking him up and down, Dipper sure didn't look worse for wear. If he'd gotten into any kind of trouble last night, it'd show; torn clothes. Bruises. Gash-marks. Twigs in hair. Mud on shoes. Dipper never knew how to clean up after an encounter with the supernatural; it wasn't too uncommon, finding him passed out on the couch, journal in right hand, bandage on the other, weathered down like a wild animal.

In all honesty, he was kind of glowing. Not literally, of course. There was just-... something fresh about him now. Dipper's skin had always been pale. Teeth, straight and white. Eyes, calculated. Maybe a bit shifty, but prepared. Nails, bitten, torn, and shortened brutishly; painful to even look at, if you got around to seeing him enough. No. This was all normal. For him, it was the same. Still, an aspect had changed, Mabel saw. Just barely, in those eyes of his; eyes like dad's.

Because, all else was mom's; thin, pink lips. Porcelain skin, untouched by sun. Slender chin. Delicate nose. Just as Mabel's. All like Mabel's. But, perhaps better suited for him. In his life, starting out as the scrawny, big-headed nerd, only to bloom into something like a woman. Male, but female. Handsome, yet oddly beautiful. Unlike Mabel, who'd always been female, and always a beauty; the transformation was far less impressive when comparing past photos.

The same face.

The same beauty.

But, comparable still.

Because, there was something to be won in it. In those eyes like dad's. Not mom's. Not owed to her, and her alone, like Mabel. With eyes like her mother's; a bit thinner at the lids. A shade lighter; still brown, but lifted with something soft- billowy. To make even the smallest of details lovely, feminine, and belonging solely to her predecessor.

No; those eyes were dad's. Wider. Brighter. Not looking to consume- to control- but simply to understand; always to know, and wonder, and discover. Nothing was needed to ensnare others; draw them in with those pretty little eyes his mother had. Instead, stern. Harsh. Dark and witty, boring into the soul. Completely male, as every boy was.

Though… Dipper's eyes then…

Not like mother's.

Not like father's.

But, his own. New; replaced. Finally opened and ready to really see things, able to return the pair he'd borrowed from his kin. Use them. Know them. Understand, with what he saw, who he was. His eyes were fresh.

Like he'd just woken up.

Yes, Dipper looked different. Not bad. Just-... The transition felt secretive . Was it too much to say that he, though unorthodox and unbalanced, looked comfortable in his own skin? For even two seconds? A quick jump, from lost to found, switching endlessly between a spiral into self-loathing grief, and newly-tread soil. Both excited and hesitant of the discovery.

A metamorphosis; caterpillar to butterfly. Baby to boy to man to… Something else.

This was not the same Dipper.

"What took you so long, dude? You didn't answer your phone. I texted you, like, a billion times." Mabel interrogated, shifting in the doorway to let him pass. He did, turning sideways to squeeze past her body. Or, maybe so they didn't touch. There was still guilt, ripe and thriving along his skin; even an instance of contact gave way to burning, hot shame.

"Oh, uh-. Yeah, I saw." Dipper made his journey to the couch, sliding his bomber jacket off and tossing it on the broken sofa. Mabel blinked, seeing his motions as a single frame rather than a collective moment. He wore a white button-up shirt; clean, unwrinkled, and pristine white. Shrunken at the waste, but leaving a bit too much room for Dipper's otherwise svelte figure.

She'd never seen him wear that before.

"Sorry. I turned my phone off at the lab." He sucked in a breath, stretched- and, Mabel could've been completely wrong. Her eyes may have just deceived her- Sniffed the slightly large shirt and huffed. "I should've texted you, I know. I'll do it next time." Dipper shrugged, lowering his arms from over his head, letting his muscles relax. Combed a hand through his hair, sucked in his lip, and rubbed his right eye. His presence felt strangely alien.

"Yeah, you do that…" Mabel's voice trailed off, observing him. She hadn't closed the door yet, simply leaning against the frame and drinking in his weirdly new, weirdly prepared response. ' I'll do it next time.' How many times did he intend on spending the night in his lab? "Did you figure anything out?" She asked, making Dipper tense.

He paused, turning rigid as the question fell over his shoulders. A breath came to him after a dot of silence, allowing his chest to clench, release; form a coherent response, void of panic- unease in Mabel's imaginary suspicion; that she knew; that she was on to him.

" Nope . Still in the dark." Dipper brought a hand up, rubbing the back of his neck. He hadn't looked at her, eyes trained on the mute television. Something colorful. Weird, with strings of loopy arms and gangly legs. Screaming, smiling, laughing. Sword-fighting. Monsters. A train-wreck of chaos.

Bill might've liked it.

"Was it just you up there? Geez, Dipper. You've got a partner; use him."

Dipper almost choked on his sister's poor phrasing.

' Use him.' Yeah, right. Like Dipper was the one doing the using. In his dreams. He scoffed at the remark, internalizing the irony of her response; she took it as rapprochement.

"I'm serious, dude. You and Bill should work together once in a while instead of getting in each other's hair." And pants. "Who knows? Might make a great team."

He gave her expression a once-over; for someone completely clueless on the situation, her commentary was oddly suggestive. ' Great team.' Like, what? A thing? Good fuck-buddies? Good boyfriends? God, Dipper didn't want to entertain the idea.

Bill was…

A sadist, in more ways than one. Getting in a serious relationship with him was essentially Stockholm syndrome. He was smarter than that; both of them. Because, hell if Dipper was any better. He was just looking for trouble. It was only by public image that he didn't get his hands dirty more often.

Combining forces would only spell out disaster.

"Us? A team?" A slight skip in his voice had Dipper bordering a laugh. Mabel finally shut the door, pressing her back against the sanded down cedar. She crossed her arms, pouting as he averted his gaze from the television, passing her a light expression. Not questioning her intelligence; moreso, where she got such bizarre ideas. "Yeah, right." He dismissed her.

"Uh, yeah. Right. Aren't you guys, like, super geniuses or whatever?" Mabel blew a raspberry his way, pulling a smile as her leaning figure came off the entrance. She made a path around him, leaning up against the couch's worn corner.

"Oh, so I'm a genius now?" Dipper cracked a grin; the edges of his lips were stretched awkwardly, dimples quaking. Whatever attempt at casual he'd planned on making only worked to undo him. His hands were clammy.

Mabel laughed nonetheless, sticking out her tongue in distaste.

"No way! You're a pea-brain, bro-bro. Always." The comment was playful, willing a half-dead frown from Dipper's lips. He couldn't conjure the emotion necessary for a full-blown glower, time and energy already spent on something far more stressful. It had its perks, though.

If he squinted hard enough.

"Thanks. My self-esteem's just soaring today." Dipper sighed, though he couldn't counteract the pleasant smirk snuggly up on his lips. Slowly- very slowly- he felt the mood shift. Less awkward. Less explosive. Casual. He could hold their conversation comfortably now, unafraid of the discussion self-detonating. Everything was okay. Everything was fine.

He could still get away with this.

"Hey. What are twins for?" Mabel chirped, leaning forward to knock him on the shoulder.

"Reality checks?" Dipper asked.

"Reality checks." She confirmed, placing a hand in his hair. Her fingers went back and forth, cutting through his bouncy curls like water.

"Well, that's just great." He shooed Mabel's hand back, going to pat the strands against his forehead. It was important he stayed conscious of their placement, unless he wanted to get caught, guard down, exposed to the public. Keep those curls in place; keep them down. "I don't remember asking for one."

"You'll thank me someday." Mabel winked, pulling herself from her bent position over the couch. Her arms went up, placing themselves to hug the top of her head as her torso leaned side-to-side in a stretch. "No, but seriously." She continued. "You guys haven't figured out anything? In a full month? Back when we were kids, your average mystery took, like, a few days, tops."

"Yeah? Well, this isn't your average mystery." He shrugged, shifting. There was a break in his thoughts, registering just what he'd said. Not your 'average' mystery. Sure, yeah. That was definitely a reasonable cause for delay. But, damn. A whole month? Dipper would've at least found witnesses by now.

But, if he was being honest, things had… distracted him. First, the case with Mrs. Lass and her supposedly resurrected husband. Then, there was the thing with that damned stripclub. Vampires and prostitutes, drinks and groping fingers. And, let's not forget the biggest culprit to Dipper's scattered mind.

Bill.

Annoying. Loud-mouthed. Cocky, and so fucking eagre to drag Dipper down to his level. He wasn't all to blame, though. Perhaps the intent wouldn't have been so effective if Dipper hadn't given him the time of day. Partaking in witty debates, growling at each other from across the room, absolutely hating each other-.

And fucking on the side line.

Maybe it was frustration. Dipper might've wanted a kind of revenge, at least getting the final word in here. (Lord knew Bill wouldn't have allowed it in any other situation.) Whatever the case, he found it in him to brave even the barest of spite against his partner then.

"Besides, that jackass doesn't do shit around the place. As far as I'm concerned, I'm working on this case solo."

"Oh, stop! I'm sure Bill's doing something over there! You're just not seeing it." Mabel reassured. Dipper couldn't help his more-than-disgusted groan, rolling his eyes at her.

"Right, right. Sure. I- the guy filling out all the paperwork, reviewing hours of street footage, and triple-checking the population of virtually every state- am just sitting in front of my desk, twiddling my thumbs while Bill dusts around for clues." His sister scoffed at him.

"That's not what I meant, goofball." She moved from the couch, sitting peacefully at the dinner table just right of them. The coffee she'd brewed moments before was losing its original appeal. "It's just-. Bro, why else would they hire him if he wasn't useful? I'm sure he's really good at detective work and all that sciency-stuff." Dipper couldn't stop himself from letting out an abrupt ' Ha!' , twisting his body to view her from across the room.

"Not even a little! That guy couldn't tell you the atomic number of gold if you gave him a periodic table."

"Uh… Well, I don't think a lot of people could do that-."

"He's a shit-human, Mabel. End of story." She huffed at him, taking her cooled beverage between delicate hands. A small sip- a wrinkle of the nose- as she crossed her legs and stared.

"Maybe it wouldn't be so bad if you weren't so dang difficult with him all the time. I mean, come on! What's a little friendship gonna hurt?"

"My pride. My ego. The tiny shred of self-respect I have left-."

"The specifics aren't important." Mabel rushed in, waving her hand at him. The next sip she took was far more pleasant. "What matters is that- God, Dip. If what you say about him is true, then you're not helping yourself at all."

"I'm not getting all buddy-buddy with that guy, Mabes." He rolled his head back, resting his arched neck against ruined orange fabrics and overflowing cotton. "It'll only make things worse."

" Psh. Hog-wash! Friendship makes the world go 'round, Dipper!" Which was not what he meant. Sure. ' Friendship' was great. But, that opportunity was out the window now. They had two sides to this relationship. Hate or fuck. Or, sometimes a hybrid.

Like the way Bill bordered choking him to death hadn't been fueled by even a sliver of pent up rage. Like how he humiliated him- called him names- teased him during and afterwards- wasn't packed full of despise for Dipper. When he was more than rough the first time, and only abused his already-spent ass the following morning- Hate. He and Bill hated each other.

And, fuck if it wasn't a fun pastime.

"How are you supposed to make a rainbow if all the colors don't get along?"

"No rainbow, I guess." Dipper shrugged, turning back to the TV. A quick motion of Mabel's hand had the device turned off, forcing Dipper to snort. "Oh, come on. Why do you care if we get along, anyways?"

"Because, that's my future husband you're talking about!"

A choke. Dipper definitely choked that time. Not physically, but mentally.

He was so much deeper in this than was possible.

' Oh, yeah. I'm just fucking my sister's crush behind Wendy's back. Who's Wendy? Aw, just my girlfriend of over a year. We've known each other since we were, like, kids. So, it's pretty serious or whatever. I don't know. I haven't gotten a bone for her since I was maybe sixteen, and we've never had sex, so really, it's only fair I get to fuck around with other people. Who cares, right? It's not like these people have feelings or anything.'

"You-... Don't mean that." Dipper tested his own voice, making sure it came out loud and clear. Not lost. Not confused. Confident. She didn't mean that. She never meant that. It was a common phrase for her, obviously. No boy was safe from her hand in marriage. None. But… This was Bill. And, Dipper knew better than anyone how he differed from Mabel's past love-interests. This wasn't a boy. This was a man . A full, complete man. There was no guarantee she could keep her hands off of him, and only him, for so long.

He was an asshole, after all.

He didn't have that kind of reserve to stop fucking Dipper on the down low, if it meant sparing Mabel's precious feelings.

He'd only bask in the glory of crushing her.

"Heck yes, I do!"

"You two barely talk."

"We… text. Sometimes. Like-. Like, a lot."

"When was the last time he messaged you-?"

" The time doesn't matter! " Mabel piped in. "The point is-." She repositioned herself, shimmying her shoulders as her posture became upright and uncharacteristically reposed. It was otherwise ruined by the outright childness of her aura. "I don't want you two fighting, okay? When we start dating- and we will, bro-bro- I want you guys to be like brothers, right?" She knit her fingers together. "So we can hang out, and go mini golfing, and eat pizza, and tell embarrassing stories about you!"

"It sounds more like a friend group. Let's just make it a friend group." Dipper's voice came out rushed, body angled to give every ounce of his attention to her. She shook her head.

"Ah-ah-ah, bro. You know me: I like what I like. And, I. Like. Bill. Say 'hello' to your future brother-in-law!" Nightmare. Absolute nightmare. There wasn't much to make it any worse-.

Dipper felt a buzz in his pants, and with every fiber in his body, thanked God for an excuse to completely discard their conversation-.

Scratch that. Still no God; still no luck.

'Incoming call from 'Fuck-Face''

" Speak of the devil…" Dipper growled, looking down at his screen. He'd specifically told Bill not to call him in the mornings, and definitely not before 8 PM. His lips curled, cursing himself for what he'd just said in front of Mabel. It wasn't too hard to guess who ' the devil' was. She gasped.

"Is that Bill?! " Her body lurched forward, eyes vibrating in sheer excitement. Her coffee mug tilted, jumped, and spilt a bit of creamy black gunk on her sweater, but she didn't so much as blink at the inconvenience. "What's he doing? Why's he calling so early? Heck; why's he calling at all? Oh, geez! Does my hair look okay? How do I look?"

" Desperate." Dipper spat. "He's not gonna see you over the phone, Mabes. Calm down."

"Easy for you to say. You've already got a lover." Mabel shot back, arms crossed with a pout. A heavy blow to the gut, forcing him to literally clench his stomach. If that hadn't hit a whole bunch of nerves-. He shook his head, running a trembling hand through his hair.

It hadn't been his idea to do it like this; he had to hide his screen before Mabel could see it. It'd been done during, once again, their most vulnerable instances together: The afterglow. Dipper had asked- No. That was too chummy. Ordered- Bill to fill out all other fields of information on his contacts. His full name. First, middle, and last. Age. Birthday. Email address. Dipper'd taken the liberty of establishing his screen-title: Fuck-Face. Whatever; Bill didn't care. Simply took his phone, filled in the information, and finished it off with a shirtless selfie as his profile.

Dipper could've swallowed his tongue with how much saliva had built up in his mouth.

"Us singles gotta stay in top shape if we plan on snagging a man!" The smile on her face was absolutely blinding. So much so Dipper almost found it in him to shield his eyes. He didn't, however. Just took the light as it came, like a spotlight of punishment.

He looked to the phone in his hand- the blank TV- the cold coffee mug- Bill's borrowed button up- and finally at Mabel. A thick ball sprouted in his throat, essentially cutting off all oxygen to his brain. Did answering the call… Mean anything? He certainly didn't mean to betray his sister like that. And, Bill-. Hell, who gave a shit what that guy had to say to him? He'd have to wait til 8 if it was important. Even if it was work-related. Even if he had new updates on the 'Bill Dilema.' Damn it all, even if he was Bill Cipher, calling to have himself turned in; he'd have to wait for the right timing.

Still… The ringing didn't stop. He thought he'd made the right decision to let the call die away, only for yet another stream of vibrations to reattach themselves. He sniffed, huffed, and sighed lowly at the screen, unable to answer the phone, but unable to outright reject the call. Dipper twitched, vaguely aware of Mabel's nonsensical drabble as she prepped- with little use- her appearance.

It occurred to him, with a rush unlike anything he'd ever felt before-

Like being struck by lightning.

Head under water, begging for air.

So close to it all, but held off by this one little thing.

…

God, would he give anything to hear that guy's voice.

He stifled a groan, looking at his profile picture. The username. The number , even. He wanted to seep into it. Envelope himself in that name. 'Bill.' Fuck. Maybe he was still screwed from their morning-sex. It'd been just as good as last night, with the position set perfectly. Dipper didn't even know he was so flexible , but Bill was only positive it would work.

He knew Dipper's body. It was only a means of practice, now.

But, who cared? Whatever he had to say wasn't worth hearing. The ringing died away… Came back again. Died. Came back. Died. Mabel didn't so much as blink at the noise, still spritzing her mouth with breath spray and double checking how low she let her sweater hang. The vibrations seeped into his hand, making his fingers near-numb from the sensation. And, each time, over and over again, that same picture showed up, coupled with that name. ' Fuck-Face.'

Just a reminder how he liked to be used.

Dipper hissed- cursed at himself- before finally getting up and walking out of the room. Mabel was startled by his sudden actions.

"Hey! Where're you going?" She called after him. He lifted a hand, phone cupped against his ear.

" Privacy ." Dipper couldn't spare a glance, afraid even one look into those clear, naive eyes would only force him to crumble. But, it was impossible now. He wanted to hear that voice, if only to insult him. Dipper could take it. Hell, he liked it. Mabel grumbled, watching him walk off, taking his conversation with him.

He ducked around the corner, down the hallway, and swung open his door much harder than necessary. If only to release even a little bit of the tension around his shoulders. The phone in his hand was close to turning down the call again, only for Dipper- groaning and slamming his door behind him- to press ' answer.'

"What do you want, asshole?" Perfectly unsuspicious; he didn't want to talk to Bill, but God if that ringing hadn't been so damn annoying, he would've just ignored it!

The other end was silent, hearing the slight ruffle of bedsheets in the background.

"You certainly took your precious time getting back to me." Bill finally said, voice strangely eerie. He sensed a slight smirk in his voice.

"So sorry to keep you waiting, your highness; I didn't give a shit."

"Oh, but now you do? " Bill cooed. Dipper sniffed, pressing the phone against his ear as he made his way to the window. They'd finally gotten a replacement for the one that'd been shattered by Mr. Fang. He lifted, very slowly, the blue curtain placed before his view, taking a peek outside; nice day. Too nice to be spent yapping it up with this asshole.

"Did you call me for a reason ?" Dipper tested, turning away from the window to look at his feet. He placed his hands on his hips, cell expertly balanced between his ear and shoulder. There was a laugh on the other end, followed by something like thoughtfulness. Bill shifted, stretched, and pulled away the blanket across his bed, swinging his legs out from the covers.

"Your shirt's clean." His tone was anything but modest, giving him a reminder of exactly what they'd gotten up to that morning. Dipper flushed.

Pants off. Boxers, too. At least for him. Bill had made the mocking decision to fuck him fully-clothed, with a pair of red-flannel pajama pants and a white tee. Legs over shoulders, tummy in, back curled as most of his weight was forced onto Dipper's shoulders; Bill had lifted him by the calves, folded him in two, and somehow gotten his knees to touch either sides of his head. Which Dipper didn't even know he could do.

The whole experience had been fine. It's been more than fine, in fact. It'd been awesome. Each thrust hit exactly where he needed it to. And, God. Did he need it. But, for every blessing in life, there was always to be a downside.

Dipper should've taken off his shirt.

Reaching his climax in that position certainly hadn't done his local laundromat any favors, and whatever didn't hit his shirt either dribbled down his neck or splashed across his cheek and lips.

Which Bill loved .

"You should probably pick it up soon. Nice shirt; you looked good in it."

"Ah, so that's it." Dipper nodded his head, as though finally understanding. But, he understood from the get-go. He knew what was up. "I thought we made a deal about calling at this time."

"Well, excuse me if I misunderstood, but I remember you specifically saying 'no texting.' "

"You know what I meant." Dipper shot back. Bill snorted.

"Hey, buddy! I'm not a mind-reader , here! You're gonna have to be more specific next time."

"' Next time.'" Dipper mocked.

"Yes, next time." Bill gloated back at him, a fat slice of derision in his tone. "How's tonight sound? Got any plans for yourself, aside from a panic attack?" Dipper scoffed at him, tucking his arms under his elbows.

"I'm supposed to be throwing myself off a water tower by 4. Maybe take a rain check? "

"Alright, then." Bill snorted, sounding oddly charming through the call; Dipper had to admit, he liked his phone voice. It almost distracted him from exactly who he was talking to. "Then Monday; you busy?"

"Uh, yeah actually. Doing my job , Bill."

"Hmm. Tragic." He responded, combing a hand through blond hair. "Too bad you insisted on the 'no office-stuff', or it wouldn't be such a big deal." Bill chuckled to himself at the thought. "Maybe consider-?"

"No. Office. Stuff. Ever. "

"Oh, come on! A little PTA never hurt anybody!"

"Uh, it has, and it most definitely will. "

" Prune!"

"I'm hanging up now." Dipper warned, pulling the phone from his ear. Bill was quick to rekindle things.

"Kidding! Kidding! Calm down, sapling. No need to get hasty." He laughed, rolling his nails over his shirt, looking at how they gleamed in the sunlight. Only hours before, they'd been buried in a hot prick-teaser's heat.

Dipper led the phone back to his ear.

"I'm telling you, kid. We're gonna have to teach you how to take a joke once in a while."

"Believe it or not, I don't find any part of our…" He puckered his lips, searching for the word. "- agreement funny."

"Oh, but isn't it-?"

" No." Dipper huffed painfully, combing a hand through his hair. He squinted his eyes, only to completely close them after a beat. "If anything, I'm more stressed than ever now."

"What's got your boxers in a twist, slick?" Dipper ground his teeth at yet another pet name added to the pile. ' Pine tree, sapling, baby, cutie, Dippy.' And now…

Slick . Which sounded like an okay name, until you picked at his brain and understood exactly where it'd come from; lube. ' Oh my god because it's slick so funny you're a genius Bill.'

"Wha-? Bill, have you forgotten what we're doing here? Why do you think I'm stressed? Take a wild guess."

"Hmm…" The line went silent, as though Bill were actually considering his question. But, Dipper knew him better than that. He had his response lock-and-loaded. "Well, if you're so scared I'm carrying something- first off, I'm offended-."

"Oh my god, will you shut the fuck up?" Dipper rolled his eyes, flopping back on his bed. He hit the mattress with a thud, body lifting slightly at the impact. "For real. Can we just-. Be serious for a second?"

"Uh-oh. Looks like someone's trying to get intimate-. "

"You'd better be scared the next time my mouth's around your dick." There was a slight rustle at his bedroom door; a creak. His heart jumped in his chest, concerned with the true level of privacy he had in his own home, only to relax. It was just the building settling.

"So, there will be a next time." Bill assures. Dipper rolls his eyes again, but allows himself to smirk for the time being.

"Maybe. If you're not a complete jerk about it again. You do know humans need air to live, right?"

"Is that so ?" Bill sounds genuinely intrigued. Dipper could taste the smile across his lips. "You sure you're not a fish in disguise?"

" Ha-ha ." Dipper mocked. "Thank you for the commentary. Your sex card has officially been revoked. Goodbye." Again, he pulled the phone away, reaching to end the call. He waited a beat, finger lingering over the crimson dot as he bit his lip, waiting for Bill to stop him. And stop, he did.

"Hey, hey, hey! Woah there, cowboy. No one said ' fish' was bad. ' Fish' is great! Got a real good thing going for you, guppy."

"You really are my greatest fear come to life." Dipper joked. There was a pause on the other end; a strangled gasp, like holding back the most vibrant laugh to ever grace human ears. Dipper cocked a brow at the receiver, giving it a queer look. After a moment, Bill sighed, cleared his throat, and licked his sharp canines.

" You have no idea." Okay, so… Not as sexual as Dipper had hoped. Fuck if he was that naive; he'd thought they were flirting . The slight dent in his pants attested to that. Even the teasing had worked to build up a little heat. But, with the way Bill said that…

Bit of a mood killer.

"Um… Okay?" He replied, shifting over his covers. He cleared his throat, eyes darting across the room at the window, curtains cracked open a peep. Just enough to peer through the bars of the fire escape ladder. It really was too nice a day. Maybe he'd go for a walk later.

Depended on if Bill could still save the conversation.

"What? Don't like my tone?" He wasn't even phased by Dipper's uncomfortable response; still so confident he had his pine tree where he wanted him.

"Nope; Your talking's what keeps me up at night." Dipper threw him the bait, shakey as he was. ' Allure' wasn't his strong suit.

"Your damn right, it is." Bill caught it effortlessly. Alright. Back in the mood. Get things in motion again. "I get the feeling you don't mind it as much as you say you do."

Dipper smiled this time. Not a grin. Not a smirk. Not fighting back the urge to beam at his remark. Bill couldn't see him anyways; he didn't know what he did to Dipper. This was still war, and the battles were hashed out every instance of their existence. But, as time stood still and the wall between them became non transparent, it felt safe to soak it in. The attention was euphoric; like when his lips were wrapped around his length. Eye trailing him, hand in hair, smile all his, words like a gift-.

The attention spoiled Dipper like nothing else. It'd never been so potent in his life. Only then, in those instances of intimacy, could he fully appreciate it.

And, here.

He could hold the tease, and mold onto it; feel it.

But, this was still war. The call, a battlefield. No matter what he wanted to say, his pride held him to a standard of expectations. In the bedroom, there was peace; a middle ground for them both to stop, bare themselves, and lock eyes. Only there. All else was combat.

"I get the feeling you've been paying too much attention to me. Anything you wanna confess?" Dipper shot coyly, placing his arm over his eyes with a snicker. The pleased sound Bill's throat made had him tingling in all sorts of ways.

"Depends on if you're willing to hear what I have to say. " A shiver up his spine. He rolled onto his stomach, propping his chin in his hand.

"Is it good?" Dipper asked. Bill laughed.

"It's great." He responded with a tune. "Maybe a bit complicated for a vanilla guy like you, though."

"Is that a challenge ?"

"Oh, baby no! " Bill's voice switched up to something soft and caring, but the outright vulgarity of their conversation kept him dirty. He smiled with the grin of a beast, cocking his brow with a purr. "It's a threat."

Dipper grew lightheaded from that single comment, letting out an involuntary huff at the remark. He couldn't help but smile at the warmth enveloping his cheeks.

" You're a threat." He snorted, shaking his head. Dipper rose from his position, kicking his legs over the edge of the bed. Maybe he would see Bill tonight, after all. He couldn't think of a better way of spending the evening, now that he put his mind to it. But- Dipper tapped his forehead- he couldn't make a habit of it. This would all end soon. The trouble, the guilt, the sex.

It would all come to an end.

"What've I been telling you, slick? I'm deadly, aren't I?"

"God, Bill. If I have to stroke you, I don't wanna stroke your ego, too." A small creak at the door again. Dipper shrugged at the noise; the apartment was settling-.

Under the doorframe…

A shadow. The base of two feet, standing just beyond his door.

Dipper's fingers went cold.

"Oh, but you're so good with your hands, baby!"

Bill's words were far-off. Stretched out and dream-like. He could hardly hear him through the rushing of blood against his ear drums. Two tiny feet with little white toes curled inwards, rocking slightly…

Shaking.

His breath caught in his throat. Dipper thought he might puke.

Cold. Across his lips. Under his chin. All inside his chest. And, damn right his boner was quickly redistributing all the donated blood it'd taken moments before. His mouth was dry. His eyes, trained just below the doorframe, where someone stood, waited, and eavesdropped.

"Hey. Dippy. You still there?" His hands shook, placing themselves on the bed to have him pushed up.

"Ay, mack! Earth to pine tree!" His legs were wobbly, blinking away whatever mist drew along his eyes. But, they remained dry. For now, they simply stared in disbelief.

"Ring ring ring! Telephone call, for Mr. Pines!" Dipper made a slow, treacherous journey over his carpet, sliding his bare feet over cheap wool. He recalled vaguely hearing the ' apartment settle' once prior to this scene. Had that been-? How long had she been there?

"I'm getting bored over here, pine tree; come on! Entertain me for a sec, woulda?" Dipper tried to swallow, but his throat only clenched, strained, and ripped along bone-dry flesh. The door kept getting closer and closer, until finally his hand rested on the knob.

"I'm gonna count to three-." He ended the call, numbly aware of Bill's voice no longer dancing in the back of his mind. Only this; the cool of metal against his skin. In his palm. It felt awful.

The door came open slowly, skin-splitting creaks driving nails through the air. Like a statue- Some marble expression etched with the collective magnitude of dread. Pain. Betrayal- there was Mabel. Glass cup in hand, still pressed firmly against the pine-frame.

She just couldn't resist. Hearing Bill's voice- even by filling in the blanks with how Dipper responded- made her giddy. Oh, so happy. So, could anyone really blame her for wanting a peek? Invading a little privacy to get the scoop on some business call- if only to imagine what Bill would say- had only been done out of infatuation.

Who could blame her?

No one.

Mabel's eyes met Dipper's with a searing stab in the chest. Her lip trembled, finally tearing up as she forced her gaze to last, never breaking. It was like destroying her greatest fantasy.

" Y-you…" She began, only to cup a hand over her lips. Her gaze left him in an instance, head lowering with newly-achieved embarrassment. Hadn't it been so funny, watching her fawn over his partner?

His… Partner.

It hurt. God, did it hurt. Maybe it would've been okay if Bill had just had a girlfriend. A boyfriend, even. She could come to terms with it if she really put her mind to it. But-.

Dipper?

Her brother?

' Betrayal,' Mabel's heart shrieked in pain. He knew she liked him! He knew. And-.

Why hadn't he told her?

Why?

Because of Wendy. Her gut shrank.

" Yo-u weren't a-at the la-b, were you?" Mabel hiccuped, pulling her lip in before shooting him a glance. Dipper's eyes were plain; whatever shine they'd held this morning at the door, was wiped clean. And, in place of it, yet another ' new Dipper.' Worse. So much worse. He didn't answer, but the bare paleness of his cheeks only confirmed her fears.

He was seeing her crush.

Behind Wendy's back .

Behind everyone's back.

Mabel cried out with a choked, broken sob, balling her fist up and placing it against her right eye.

He hadn't even told her.

" This-... Dipper, you fucking jerk." His chest heaved, the first spark of life in his glazed expression. Mabel never cursed. Never. Not even if something was completely, absolutely, entirely unfair. Kept from justice; deprived of kindness; lost or forgotten. She. Never. Cursed.

Dipper's eyes welled up, pulling in his lip. His face began to burn, red-hot with shame. She'd heard it. She'd heard them.

' Disgusting. Dipper, you're disgusting.'

'Why did you say that?'

'What had you planned on gaining from all of this? What could you have won?'

'Were you supposed to save Mabel with this? Did fucking her crush help her somehow?'

'You sick bastard. Sick, sick, sick, sick.'

'Why did you want that kiss, Dipper? Why did you want that kiss?'

Because…

He couldn't explain why.

" I kn-ow." Dipper replied brokenly, rubbing the back of his hand over his nose. The tears swarmed, overwhelmed, and ran down his cheeks in an instance, forcing him to soak them up with his sleeves. Mabel shook her head, but said nothing of his response. Only grew darker; quieter. An achieved decency she'd acquired after years of broken hearts. Not to beg, or complain, or debate. Simply stand, listen, and wallow.

" H-how long… How long have you been like this?" Was it possible to break so easily?

' Like this,' Dipper thought. Like…

' Have you ever kissed a man?'

'Would you like to?'

He trembled, rising a hand to the roots of his hair, yanking sharply.

' Don't remember don't remember don't remember don't remember.'

" I-." Dipper stopped himself, cut off by his dry throat tightening, loosening, and hoping to strangle him to death. He shook, blinked away a tear. The broken sighs leaving him were lost to the shrill ring of his phone. He didn't dare to look. " I-... I-I don't know."

Mabel stiffened at his grave tone. He sounded so… lost. She almost lifted a hand to him, only to remember her own ailments and deny him comfort. This wasn't okay. None of this was okay, and-. Could he have ruined more lives with this? He'd hurt her. He'd hurt Wendy. Lord knew if mom and dad found out, he'd hurt them. And…

He hurt himself.

She needed time to process this. A lot of time. First and foremost, Dipper was cheating on Wendy, which was a bombshell of information. What was she to do with it? Tell her? That was certainly what her conscience said to do. But, what about Dipper? This could kill him. Everything he had, everything he worked for; gone.

' Should've thought of that before stabbing her in the back.'

' Come on. This 's Dipper we're talking about. He wouldn't hurt her on purpose.'

'But, he did.'

'You know him. He doesn't have a cruel bone in his body.'

'Or does he?'

'He's always stuck by your side, Mabel. Do him this one solid; just bend the rules a little.'

'Think about Wendy; you guys've known each other for years. Are you really willing to destroy her trust for Dipper, who broke hers **and **your heart?'

Mabel looked at him, blinking rapidly, trying to bat away stinging tears. He was shaking his head, hand in hair, hiccuping and crying and...

She needed time to process this.

Sucking in a breath, Mabel forced her eyes to trace his once again. And in them, naked regret swam through salty tears.

Adult time. Now is adult time.

" You-... You need to go somewhere, Dipper." How to find the right words? He didn't flinch at the statement, only growing darker with every breath he took. A radical thought tried to make its way through the cracks of his reserve, telling him to go somewhere. Somewhere so much farther than this apartment; this state; this country. No. Much farther than that. Beyond the continent, the planet, and the stars. Past the solar system; the milky way; the galaxy. Curl up, fade into blackness, and spend eternity within the fabric linen of axolotl's coat pocket. Die, Dipper. Die.

He pushed the thought away, hanging onto every motion Mabel made.

" Just-... leave, okay? F-for a little bit. " She froze, biting her lip, only to let out another pained sob. " I'm sorry, I just-... I ca-n't loo-k at y-ou ri-ght n-n-ow. I just-." The pain was back. The voice was back, so much louder this time. Not this planet. Not this galaxy. So much farther. Through the veil of infinity; God's corner; resting in a patch of dormant souls and the whimsical blare of string theory. For what other tune could death truely play?

Dipper said nothing, simply nodding at her wishes. He heard something soft, high and crushing just left of him. It was his phone.

Bill was burying him in text messages.


	32. The Inbetween

" Hey… Hey, loser. Up and at 'em." Came a distant tone. Muffled and drowned, focused on the spot above his head, where he refused to open his eyes. Dipper was still dreaming, sort of. He certainly wasn't conscious , but-. Perhaps awake enough to know someone was talking to him. But, who cared?

He didn't.

Dipper rolled on his side, cradling the silk-sheet of a thick pillow around his skull, blocking the voice out. He tried to hold onto what was left of the vision replaying in his mind. A mountainous field, ravished in vibrant greens and reds. Maybe spring, maybe fall; beautiful in both instances. A peaceful scene, brimming with wisps of sun, the soft breeze of eastern currents, lingering patches of melted snow and ice, slick blades of grass, the glorious peaks of Hotham or Bimberi or Kosciuszko or Twynam- It didn't matter. The sight was lovely.

And there, right by his side, was he. Watching, just as the other did, from the balcony of their shared home. Dipper, still in his shirt from the night before and a pair of boxes. The man, wearing only pants. He'd lean up behind him- the subtle rise of flesh rubbing Dipper's back such a perfect sensation- and whisper in his ear.

' It's as you wanted it.' And, for only an instance, Dipper was sure he understood the context. He wanted this scene. He had it. A cold breeze, fought off by the man's body enveloping him. What was this feeling growing in his gut? Lust? Lust, for the shirtless man?

No.

Something far more complicated.

" **Hey! Nerd!** " Dipper jerked in his spot on the bed, gasping as his subconscious was ripped from the dream. He sat up in an instance, drowsy as he was, scooting up and away from whoever had screamed at him. His body lurched, to the side, and damn near fell off the queen-sized mattress, onto a hot-pink rug. Dipper caught himself in an instance, hanging on by a pole hoisting the bed's purple canopy.

He placed a hand over his chest, huffing sharply as the odd sensation of almost plummeting tingled through his arms. Dipper scrunched his nose after a moment of panic, whipping around to see his aggressor. The expression he gave was meant to send chills through her spine, but by the way Pacifica simply snorted, rolled her eyes, and yanked the blanket from his lap, he couldn't help but lose the heat behind his gaze. Soften into something plain, like indifference.

"Uh, good morning, prince." Pacifica went, pulling away from him. She stood tall, hip popped, crossing her arms with a cocked brow. "Have any idea what time it is?"

Of course not. Dipper was still a sloshing mess from his supposed-to-be light nap. That hadn't exactly gone as planned. On the contrary, it'd gone rather shittily, considering it had been light out last he shut his eyes. Now, by the soft tint of violet-maroon gulping away the sky, he couldn't help but conclude his ' evening nap' had dragged on for a bit longer than expected. Who could blame him, really? The nights never gave way to sleep anymore. Not for the past week.

Pacifica's bed was nice. Better than nice. It was the number one thing he looked forward to after drinks; whenever Dipper was too drunk at the bar, and couldn't stand to open his apartment door, let alone make it to his bedroom. And she, being the ' generous' girl she was, always opened her home to him. Where they'd lie back, talk, laugh, and almost-kind-of kiss. But, Dipper was never drunk enough. Nor would he ever be. Simply laugh, brush away the awkward peck she'd given his cheek, and pretend not to remember in the morning.

The nights were cold, though. Wrapped up in indian silk, rather than his cotton comforter. The indents where she'd slept didn't fit his own figure, and it hadn't been worn down the way Dipper's own shitty mattress was. The springs didn't creak when he tossed, and a near-panic struck him the night before, when Dipper was certain he'd drifted into God's palm to be covered, crushed and drained. No, this was not his bed.

This was not him.

Mabel refused to return his calls, let alone a single text. He'd contemplated just heading over to talk; on his hands and knees if he had to, if only to apologize. What could be said, though? She didn't want to see him. She-.

Wasn't disgusted with Dipper… Just angry.

He really fucked up this time.

Bill on the other hand… Well, it looked like he was putting whatever phone insurance he had to good use. Dozens- dozens- of texts, emails, calls, and video chats, all to speak with his favorite play-thing, who refused to reply. Dipper had dug into a week's worth of well-deserved sick days just to avoid him. But Bill- Dipper prayer against the worst- was a persistant fuck. Literally and figuratively. With luck, he'd keep away from the apartment and try reaching through cellular contact only.

Until Dipper could figure everything out. A little longer. Maybe wait out Mabel's wrath. Or for Wendy to find out and dump him. Or Bill to grow bored of his slut; lose his appetite from the sudden ghosting. Or…

**Or…**

Finally figure out what the fuck was wrong with him.

"Don' know." Dipper slurred, rubbing his eye simply. Pacifica scoffed at his laziness before sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Time for your dumbass to buy drinks. Happy hour starts at ten, you dweeb." She laid back, placing an arm behind her head, staring at the violet canopy above. Dipper and her had once tried climbing the royal fabric; some ways past drunk jenga, beer pong, and a less-than-called-for game of buzz. Back their highschool years, sometime after a promotion to not-quite-seniors, but getting there. When they could still wonder what life was like out of chalk boards, hallways, and homework. Where they'd be. What they'd do. How in the hell that damn canopy's slight fabric would sustain their weight.

Answer: It wouldn't.

It didn't.

It was thin, and delicate, and meant to look at, not touch. They tumbled in, laughed, almost stood on the wavering fabric. Cried out as it gave way to pink bedding below. A gaping hole, ripped and torn to shreds, broken up from this one instance. Not worn down over time, from years of sitting. Just- broke . Because it wasn't made to sustain that weight. It wasn't made to hoist people. That wasn't what it did.

And, no one could ask it to be anything but what it was.

Pacifica turned her head, watching Dipper stretch, yawn, and check his phone. He'd slept for a solid nine hours; good rest. He needed it more than anything. His gaze turned to her for only an instance- sighed, rode a hand up his neck, and turned away before seeing the quick smile Paz tried to give him; reassure him with. It didn't hurt her, though. The expression would've only worked to soil his pride.

No one could ask him to be anything but what he was.

After a second of groaning, feeling the slight pop in his back when he lifted and rotated his arms, Dipper rose. Slow, as not to stumble over his own disoriented feet. That dream had been strange. The man- whoever he was- always showed up, just behind him, as to keep his features hidden. But, the flesh felt real. The warmth, comforting these several days. His wide chest, pressed against his back. Not demanding anything, but rather comforting the smaller. With words of compassion; something he consumed in every instance.

'There is space and time.'

'Let it drift.'

'Keep your head filled.'

Yes, he craved sleep. For multiple reasons.

"Yeah. I know." Dipper stretched, shutting his eyes with a groan. He was stiff all over, despite the bed's overwhelming support. "Lemme get my wallet." It sat at the edge of his nightstand, next to his keys, notebook, Xanax, and reading glasses, which Pacifica was sure to pick at him for. She'd snorted at him, only to take the pair of thick-rimmed frames, balance them atop her nose, and check herself. Of course, she pulled them off just fine. Dipper would've laughed at her narcissism, and Paz had secretly hoped he would- the persona was in no way an act, but perhaps exaggerated now. Just a bit. Less snobbish at heart, but knowing perfectly well how endearing this side of her was to the strange man. Familiar, he would call it. To suggest not all things had to change. Not all was different. And, to a point, he was correct.

But, this .

This was far from the same.

He'd stayed silent the first night, letting Paz have her kicks as she'd spun around, watched herself in the mirror, and pulled several provocative poses in the full-length, checking over her shoulder every so often, wondering if Dipper had yet smiled. He hadn't. Only sat, dangled his head, and let every tendon freeze over. It was like a leaking faucet, watching the still boy as his eyes drowned, overflowed, and dropped salt along his pant legs. Not moving. Not wiping away tears, or sniffing, pouting, or speaking. Like he'd died on the bed, letting everything well up and disperse.

And, the nights. The nights, he cried. Silent, again. She'd turn over on her side, place a hand close to his- and pull back. She knew why he was here. She knew what was wrong. To think, she'd been infatuated with him for so long . And now here he was, in her bed, broken hearted, relationship with Wendy almost finished and she was so close to-.

Pacifica's hand always stopped short of his. Always. Only dusted away lint from silk sheets, rumpled her pillow, and turned from the ever-open eyes of something broken. Should she hate him for this? Should she hate him for what he'd done? What he'd chosen? Paz couldn't find it in her satin-heart to judge. Simply pondered, hoping to make sense of years of affection gone to waste; reminding herself not only who was in her bed, but who that somebody had been in bed with.

This was certainly a tricky situation.

He hadn't eaten the first day. At all. Hadn't left the bed. Hadn't gone to drink. Hadn't checked the phone in his pocket, almost dead, but sending through message upon message from whoever. Dipper just lied there, dead-faced, tearing but not sobbing. An abandoned house, with busted pipes and no lights. Pacifica almost had a heart attack when she'd gotten back, close to calling an ambulance after seeing him; Cold to the touch. Blank stare. Crying, not weeping. Tartiflette. Creme brulee. Bouillabaisse; all placed by his bedside on a silver platter, untouched.

Surely, he was dead. Or dying. Or, experiencing some strange in-between. Over the wall, but able to come back if he tried. Very, very hard.

Pacifica almost collapsed, noting the soft brush of air from his lips; almost slapped him for giving her a scare, but refrained once finally viewing him without panic. Curled on the bed, hand extended, bangs draping the tips of his eyes when he stared off, shivered, and drained away.

If not dead, and not alive, then in-between. This was the middle.

The second day, still no words. A slice of toast, though. And, by the way he opened his mouth with stiff hesitance, it could be infirmed just how little energy was left. Half a slice. Back to bed. Day three, some soup. Pacifica contemplated a house doctor. But, he wasn't sick. He wasn't sick. Physically, at least. Still, she kept a close eye on him.

The pills on his nightstand became a looming concern, not touched, but watched. She'd caught him once, staring at them very oddly. With an expression just short of plain; indifferent. A spark of motivation. Inspiration. Never a move to grab the bottle, but always that ominous glow of his gaze.

' Warning: Concomitant use of benzodiazepines and opioids may result in profound sedation,

depression, coma, and **death **.'

Very odd stare. Longing, but hesitant. Quick, but slow. Dipper's eyes would flutter, shoulders flinching as though to reach for the vile, only for the hand to raise, drift, and eventually die in mid-air.

She made sure Alfred watched him while she was out.

Day four, he spoke a little to the butler, asking when the ' duchess' would be home. To which the old man replied, ' Sometime this evening, I presume sir.' A bowl of soup. A thing of bread. And, later that evening, a queer turkish dessert; something Paz had imported on his behalf. He thanked her, slow to take the gift, before promising to treat her out later himself.

Day five, a significant improvement. More talking. More eating. A slow crawl from bed, looking out the window with a whimsical, yet concerned look on his face. It seemed he'd been doing some soul-searching between tears.

And now, today; strange features. Drowsy, but sure, if not rushed. Excited, and more than a little anxious. A lot of soul-searching. A lot of thinking.

They made their way down the steps, Pacifica addressing the butler only vaguely. Waving a hand, not quite out of disrespect. Rather, the usual. They went out; despite the drama, the tears, the starving, the depression. They would go, drink until the sensation left their fingertips, and stumble back in a splash of color. Like always.

Just please, let this night rebirth them.

They entered the shaded bar, serving drinks and potato wedges in mass proportions. Like always, the lights were dimmed, strung only by LED lights of red and purple. A live band tonight, unlike the usual fuzz of broken speakers along the corners of the pub; some low, drowned tune of drums, strings, and the unorthodox croak of wooden panelling below performing feet. Some were already dancing; lighter fellows, with less hair then the brawny figures playing pool, shooting darts, or dousing themselves with hard liquor. Dipper trailed a cautious eye along the bunch, before guiding his friend by the elbow to their usual seating.

They ducked between large, hairy men, all of which brandished horrific tattoos. He noted a slight sensation along his pelvic line, seeing how every muscle rolled beneath tight, tan flesh. A moment's hesitation, and he was snapping back his gaze, uninterested. Truely, his appetite was ruined now. He craved only one.

The journey towards dark purple cushions was quick enough, spoiled only by booms of laughter and unfortunate side steps. The band droned on, flaunting themselves like white doves during the grand finale. But, their timing was ridiculously off. All energy was spent for a single song, so much so that it was nearly pathetic when the lead singer huffed, licked his lips, and jokingly aired on grabbing a quick drink, before inevitably doing so. Dipper and Pacifica reached the couch, sitting side-by-side with an unspoken space between the two. Enough for a tasteful fur purse to snuggle in the middle, tickling the tip of his thumb.

"God, I hate live music!" Paz exclaimed, rolling her head back painfully. She placed a hand under the curve of her neck, massaging it with her index and middle finger, before shooting her partner a glance. Dipper had taken a quick look at his phone.

' 103 unread messages'

'24 missed calls'

'You missed a video chat with 'Fuck-Face''

His eyes hardened vaguely, putting the phone back. Nothing from Mabel, as usual. All from him. And Dipper, being the proud man he was, refused to answer back. Out of respect for his twin. Still, a slight twitch of the lips could be felt, seeing the greyed start of each message.

' Don't go dying on me, pine tr…'

He could feel his chest warm.

"Yeah." Dipper replied softly, head tilted from Paz to view the stage of musicians. Greasy black hair, ripped jeans, lanky in all forms but his gut, which had the misfortune of popping a beer-belly. He'd been lucky to have found someone in his youth, before she could see exactly what their future together entailed. "Robbie kind of sucks."

Paz snorted, watching the albino-fleshed male swing around. Light bounced from the oily surface of his nose. Dotted scars from his years of youth, scraping away pimples and zits with dirt clogged under dry nails. Forehead crinkled, sweat seeping into every inch of black, hooded fabric, and teeth boiled bright yellow. Still, Robbie smiled when he sang, and twisted into an uncanny jig as his bass swirled either way. He seemed happy. Amazingly, unreasonably so.

"You hear about him and Tambry?" Pacifica leaned in, as though the musician could catch their words from here. Dipper, despite himself, gave a light snort.

"What's with you and your nose sticking in other people's business?" Paz gave him a sour look, leaning away just barely. She viewed him with low, tempted suspicion, watching the way he shifted in his seat. Dipper wanted to say something. After a time, when they were done gossiping, and the cocktails started flowing, and the music was low and the mood was right. She let his subtle expression die across his lips.

"Oh, please. This nose costs more than the clothes on your back." She waved him off, giving his weak smile a once-over. "I can smell good tea from across the ocean."

"Then by all means." Dipper's hand went out, gesturing to her slightly. " Spill ." He always cracked a grin at that statement. It was such a cheeky phrase, and so like her to use it the way she did. Pacifica had always been on top of trendys.

"Someone caught Robbie at a claw machine last week; blew, like, all his cash trying to get this plastic ring, stuck under the foot of a McRonald's G.I. Jonas." Again, she leaned in, passing the performer a knowing look. "I think he's planning on proposing."

"What? Robbie? " A bit of life came back, if only for an instance, flying high then low at the comment. It really was such a bizarre thing to think. He'd known Robbie for years; it seemed weirdly out of character for the guy to tie himself down like that.

"Uh, yes Robbie. You seriously didn't hear? It's, like, all around town." Pacifica joked, knocking his shoulder. Dipper returned her expression with a dry grin.

"I've been a bit busy, believe it or not." Which, of course she did. Paz gave him an incredulous expression, shooting him up and down with glances before eventually sighing.

"Omg, what ever, dork." She stood from her spot, jostling blond bangs towards the wraparound bar. "Just shut up and buy me something already." And, he did.

Standing, with legs that felt remarkably offbeat, as though already on his fourth or fifth shot. The sensation subsided soon enough, not before Dipper's legs made an involuntary jerk as though to force him over. He got ahold of himself eventually, ignoring the look of concerned annoyance from his dear friend.

Pacifica; a sidecar.

Dipper; a cosmopolitan.

The bartender went to work, mixing and dressing their glasses with remarkable accuracy, in spite of their erratic selection. They never had the same drink twice. Simply chose, drank, and experienced whatever name caught their fancy. The beverages were passed off to them, not without the man giving both a weighted expression.

"Don' gee too crazy, fellas. I might do worse than cut ya' off next time." His gruff, harsh voice seemed to bestow a kind of clarity within Dipper; a soothing command. He nodded silently, taking the statement as unregistered concern. Paz scowled before leaning over to snatch up either drink.

" Whatever ." The beverages were liften in either hand, one passed on to her guy-friend, the other kept neatly between her index and ring. She turned away without a word, leading Dipper back through the jumbled mess of males. Seating herself with crossed legs, and an even more cross expression, Paz gave a dirty sneer.

"Can you believe that guy?" Dipper had his lips pressed against the cup's edge, pausing at her remark.

"What?" He asked simply, lowering the glass.

"That guy. The same one that cut us off last week. Can you believe he'd threaten us like that?" She scoffed, rolling her eyes. Dipper just shrugged.

"Well… You did snip off his ponytail-."

"Because it was ugly, Dipper!" Pacifica lifted her drink, tilting her head as a bit of the yellow concoction spilt over her tongue. She huffed, pulling the glass away with a frown. " So ugly. He should've thanked me." He shrugged again, eyes darting to his cosmopolitan with mild interest.

"I don't know…" Dipper began, mumbling before the glass pressed onto him. "It was kind of nice." The drink flowed in, giving him time to avoid Paz and her curious eyes. Her expression was lopsided; untamed and weirdly playful. A slight lean forward.

"Oh, so you're into ponytails? " She laughed, watching Dipper gasp, yank away the burning drink, and sputter.

"N- no! " His face grew hot, shooting her a nasty look. "I just- It was cool, you know? He had a good thing going for him, and-. It was nice." The music was a bit lower this time; far less energy now that the lead singer was huffing, trying uselessly to keep the wet eyeliner from dripping into his eye sockets.

"Oh, stop. That thing was nappy, and you know it." Pacifica laughed, tilting her head in the way of the bar. "But… Since we're on the topic, he's got a nice jawline, don't you think?" Dark, testing eyes met her calculated gaze. Dipper only tossed a passing look, hardly anything to draw from, before meeting her features.

"I think… You're insinuating something."

"Hey! It's just a question, right? No harm asking." She leaned back, sagging into the clean furniture. "So, tell me: Nice jawline. Yah or nay?"

"I'm not answering that."

"Oh, come on! Why not?"

"Because I know what you're getting at ." His lip hitched up in a growl, biting away the comfy atmosphere. Pacifica couldn't care less, only sticking out her tongue at Dipper's tough-guy act.

"And, what exactly am I getting at?"

" You- !" Dipper's body lurched, almost spilling his drink at the sudden rush of irritation. A slight hiss, a clench of the jaw, and he was back under control. He sharpened his gaze, returning to his cosmopolitan. "You know what you're getting at."

"Then why don't we address it, Dipper? We need to talk."

" We-." His hands flew out between them, gesturing sharply. "-don't have anything to talk about."

"Uh, yes the fuck we do ." Pacifica let out a high laugh, deprived of all humor. "Come on, loser. Show me a little gratitude, will you? In case you've forgotten, you're kind of living in my house." Dipper groaned, sliding a hand down his face.

"You think I want to?" He paused, taking a swig of his drink; sharp and bitter. "This- I didn't mean for all this to happen. It just-... It just did, okay? That's it."

" God , Dipper. No it is not!" A snort of humor, otherwise friendly in this scene, coated in a jeering remark. "Don't play dumb, nerd. You and I both know you're no good at it."

"What do you want me to say ?" His tone was hostile, sucking down the last of his drink like a gust of fresh air. Pacifica watched quietly, noting the slight flex of his jaw when he looked back; eyes piercing. Close to breaking. To discovering. But, still forcing forth a cloth of blindness.

"What you usually say: Facts." Dipper let out a dry ' ha' , only to turn away and break for another drink. She yanked him back before he could make an escape, pulling him back on his bum. "What would critical-Dipper say in this situation?" Pacifica continued. He gave her a bold glare.

"He'd say to let go of my shirt." Dipper glowered, shouldering himself out of her grasp. The nails digging into his shirt sleeve loosened, but kept themselves pressed against tight weaving.

"...Are you really gonna run away from this?" A soft tone, so much unlike her usual confidence. He stiffened, heated then cooled at her unseen expression of surety. She was sure of this, as she was sure of everything else. A ping of jealousy, sensing the knowledge under her foundation.

"I'm not-... running. I just-... I don't know. It's just not a good time."

"Then when is a good time?"

"Who knows? Sometime? Never? I don't-. I don't know." Pacifica felt a slight tremble against his sleeve. Dipper's fists balled up, clenched brutishly against the strong twine of polyester pants, close to tearing holes. She sighed, dropping her hand.

" Dipper. " Her gaze was firm, forcing his eyes to trail every instance of light bouncing over sky-blue waters. "If we don't talk about it now, we'll never talk about it ever. " Pacifica assured him. And, he couldn't deny; she was right. He'd been avoiding it so long, though. So long in the dark, left confused and unconfident.

Who would he be once he was sure?

Dipper's lip curled in, tugged gently between chattering teeth. His eyes darted away, to the empty glass. To the hand placed next to his, close but not touching. The cup clasped between delicate fingers. The men dancing, darting, and drinking. Then, to the phone placed just in front of him, glowing and dying with yet another text. His gaze returned.

"Okay…" Dipper agreed finally, lifting and lowering his head. "Let's talk." A soft smile curled over Pacifica's lips, only to lean back on her hands and gaze hopefully.

"You know, Mabel's been texting me non-stop about the whole situation." The smirk on her lips was coy, a bit dry at the edges, but still smug enough to instill potent taunting. "Looks like you and Bill were saying some dirty things-."

"Oh my god, stop." Instant regret flowed over his neck, seeping into the pores of hot skin and trickling down his spine. He buried his face in his hands, cheeks glowing red. "That was so weird." Dipper's muffled voice came.

"No shit, genius. You almost traumatized her."

"I take it back. No more talking." He made a move to stand, only for her vice-like grip to tug him in place. She continued.

"She's… Really upset, Dipper."

"Yeah, I know. " He grouched, leaning back in his seat. What he wouldn't do for a martini right now. "It wasn't like I was trying to rub it in her face. She was just… there, and I didn't know, and I get that it was super weird and uncomfortable for her and she-.

"Oh, no, no, no, no. You got it all wrong, home wrecker." Pacifica put a finger up, whipping out her phone in an instance. The screen was unlocked, text messages already in place for his viewing. "She's pissed you didn't tell her."

Uh… What ?

"Uh… What?"

"You heard me." She passed the phone on, crossing her arms with new-found control of the situation. "You should've told her, jerk."

A heavy stone in his chest. Cold, wide and caving, yet empty. Dipper felt hot inside. Not the good heat, leading to spectacular excitement and satisfaction. Or, angry heat; the malten burn of wrath. Not even the shameful burn of embarrassment. Simply… burn. Like something uncontrollable. A forest fire in his heart, looking down at the cellular device. He knew what she meant.

"How…" Dipper's voice broke off, fighting against the strain of clenching flesh. He sucked in an awkward breath, trying his best to keep focus. "How… W-with Wendy, and home, and work, I-... Where was something like this supposed to fit in?" He thought he'd cried himself dry over the last week, but apparently he still had tears to give. His voice broke, forcing him to once again pause, recuperate, and breath.

"I never wanted this … I shouldn't have wanted it, but-" Dipper clasped a hand over his mouth, the sudden jerk of pain unbearable in that instance. He thought he might collapse. A kind warmth finally met his hand, fingers rubbing against his with soothing motions.

"But, that's who you are, dork. Can't judge, right?" Her smile was piercing; something he could've fallen for if he wasn't… Wasn't…

Dipper took a sharp breath, shaking his head in hopes of keeping the tears back, but they just kept coming.

"I… I think I'm gay." He finally said, voice a meer wisp. That was it for him. He hunched forward, willing his other hand over his mouth with wide eyes, tears pouring out like they'd never done before, and only dabbed away by Pacifica's shirt cuff. She let out a sympathising sound, spot-free of pity or annoyance. Simply cooing as she wrapped both arms over his head, pulling his face into the crook of her neck.

"I know, nerd. I know." Pacifica's voice held lines of sadness as her hand went up, rubbing circles over his back. A ten-year crush: demolished . Still, she couldn't help but warm at his own clarity. He'd always been such a stiff, it was nearly impossible to get him out like this. His arms returned around her after an instance of tears, pulling her tightly against him.

" You're n- not the worst any-more." Pacifica snorted at him, ruffling his hair just slightly.

"I guess this is as good a time as any to tell you I've been trying to steal you from Wendy for, like, a year , huh?" Dipper let out a broken laugh, nuzzling closer into her shoulder. He felt heavy all over; like lead. Like he was being pulled down into the depth of no return. Sinking, sinking, sinking. But, the captain always goes down with his ship. The thought gave rise to pure, untainted lucidity. He was sure. Broken, but sure. This was right. This was true. Another laugh, a bit brighter, and a bit more clear.

" Yeah. I know."


	33. Greasy's Diner

I placed my head low, shoulders squaring above the porcelain sink decked in curls of gold and jasmine. The water was frigid, filling the stopped bowl just before overflowing. A ripple dispelled from one last drop of the faucet when I finally snapped the stream off, ducking down to cup my hands with water. I dove nose-first into the chilled pond, splashing over my features with great care the icy burn of tap water, hoping to awaken some kind of understanding within me.

My palms rode up, down, rubbing along my cheeks before sliding to my chin, simply to dangle. A small sigh, the harsh draw of breath as I bent up from my position, looked into the mirror, and cringed at the curious eyes staring back.

_' Now, isn't **this** interesting?'_

Perhaps I'd been stupid to deny it for so long. _This_ long, definitely. I swallowed, catching the first ray of light from three consecutive sunroofs overhead. Pacifica's bathroom could have cradled my room, if not my whole apartment. Maybe I could live here. Maybe I could camp out a little longer.

But…

No. I understood now, as confusing as it was, what an idiot I'd been. For so long. So very, very long. I couldn't hide myself anymore; not with the truth right here, standing before me. Water dripping down his face, gaze high, hair curled brown, skin pale but rising red, in whatever Paz had forced him to slip on the night before. The man staring back at me was sure. So sure, he'd never forgive me if I let this moment die away. He had an agenda; chore list snapped cockily between light fingers, sneering at me with the most smug expression possible.

_' Do you hear me **now **?'_

Yes. Yes, I heard him. Loud and clear. And, that list; I'd gone over it almost a million times already, but the directions were far more extreme now. Not get-good-grades , or solve-the-case , or be-there-by-six . The list was short, and in being so, far more complex than anything I'd ever done.

_**Come clean.**_

Which felt impossible.

I sighed once more, riding a hand up the side of my face, stopping it to rest softly over my eye. The image staring back did exactly the same, if not with an odd annoyance behind him. It had become tiring- tedious - keeping it all locked up. Keeping him locked up. We had a lot of catching up to do, he and I.

But first, Mabel .

Plans had finally been established to meet up at Greasy's Diner for breakfast; get everything out and in the open. Confess. Convince.

And, it would've sounded almost relieving, if she even expected me to be there.

As far as she knew, Paz was her one and only guest.

I cursed, hissing sharply at the glide of golden shine along white bath tiles. Crickets had still been singing, last I woke over an hour ago. But, the earth kept spinning and spinning on its strict axis; Punctual, punctual. The sun would always rise. Night would always fall. And, I would always wake, ready or not, to the monotonous drone behind every file case, coffee cup, and empty bed the days threw at me. Well…

Until recently.

A smile crept over my lips, hearing the distance ding of his constant texting. Not to say ' good morning' or ' I love you.' If anything, to threaten my very life for ghosting him. Still, there was a warmth behind each message. He cared enough to think of me, if only to know I hadn't dropped off the face of the earth. He wanted to hear from me. Bill. And, if I had even an ounce less pride, maybe I could be persuaded into believing I wanted to hear from him. Even a little. But, who was I kidding?

I'd always regret giving him the time of day.

I took a breath, held it, let it free, and fixed my face to carry even a drop of whatever the mirror wore. Whoever stared back… Knew what they were doing. How it would end. How it would begin.

Why I even felt the need to do this; to ' come out.' Maybe I owed it to my sister to finally tell her. After all I'd done to her- all I'd lied about- she deserved to know, for sure. But… That would be false. It was too noble to say I was doing it for her sake. How could this ever benefit her, after all? What did the world gain from this? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. It was as worthless as any other confession, swallowed whole by ears and smothered by air-tight silence.

I was doing this for me.

I needed to hear this.

If only to verify it was all true.

One last look in the mirror. The figure gazing back still didn't reach me, nor would it for a long while. He was a stranger against the glass, pressing palm-to-portal on reflective matter, as though waking up Christmas morning to their first car parked, layer beyond layer, in freshly laid snow. Completely unexpected, but accepted. Desired. Because finally- finally- the day had come. A new start. The next step.

Pacifica and I stepped out of her limo; my car had been abandoned back at the apartment, if only to give Mabel this one thing: a hopeless call for forgiveness, no doubt ignored. I deserved it, though. I really had done her dirty. Jesus, I'd don't almost everyone dirty. Holy shit. I made sure to dust myself of any loose dirt or crumbs from the seats, before remembering I'd gone in Paz's vehicle. A strict ' no eating' policy; not due to her parents, but because it was the one thing she agreed on.

Microfiber suede and crunch wraps didn't mix.

A laugh would have passed my lips, and almost did, only for my eyes peer ahead and note the glass display of Greasy's interior. There, just left of a 1965 El Diablo, sat my sister in a worn out booth. Chin propped in hand, eyes dull, shoulders slack, and-...

Talking?

I hadn't made a move from my position by the limo, still lurking as Pacifica smoothed on a second layer of foundation, applied blush, perfected her cat eye, only to snort grossly and wiping it away. Lather, rinse, repeat. A different shade. A different hue. Not the right texture. Too much glitter.

My eyes strained, watching the girl I hadn't seen in over a week roll her hand loosely, readjust the backs of her earrings, and bear a lazy smile; far from her usual pace. Slower- much slower- and close to collapsing with insomnia, from the looks of it. Whoever she was talking to must have picked up on the subtle cues. A moment more, they were reaching across the table- over the salt shakers, ketchup, and napkins- to clasp her shaken hand.

I choked out a gasp.

Pale, white skin, freckled knuckle upon knuckle. Cuffed at the wrists with green flannel. Broad, but light shoulders. And, worst of all, flaming red hair, recently snipped up to her shoulders in a pretty cut.

**Wendy** .

Pacifica got out of the limo, giving me a side-glance with unimpressed eyes. She placed a finger under my chin, snapping my jaw shut with a ' clack' before snapping her fingers an inch from my face.

"Hey, dork. Earth to-?" My hand shot for hers, swiftly pulling her fingers against my chest, forcing her eyes to meet mine.

" What is **_she_ **doing here?!" I grit through barred teeth, brows set rightfully. Another important piece of information behind this whole arrangement: Pacifica had handled all the details. From texting Mabel, to setting up times, to picking out a place to meet. And, maybe it was just me being a complete pussy, but I'd suspected these plans of being reserved for three people. News on a plus one had never, ever crossed her lips, even though it definitely should have.

I couldn't do this.

My body jerked, gears screeching pettily in an effort to decipher what the fuck I was still doing here, in this parking lot, at Greasy's diner, even entertaining the idea of facing either of those girls. Holy shit. Holy shit. Holy shit. I made quick work of tracing an easy escape route, heartbeat skyrocketing as all the possibilities came flooding in. I wasn't ready for this. Hell, I was hardly ready to address my own sister-!

I should've taken my Xanax.

I shouldn't have gotten out of bed.

I shouldn't have told anyone, ever.

This was so stupid.

My mind was racing, hands lifting to comb through matted hair- only to remember the fingers still interlaced with mine. I tried to shake them away- get a bit of grounding on this god awful situation- only to feel the digits squeeze tightly.

"_Whoa_\- Yeah , _okay_ loser. Calm down, will you? Jesus, not that this hasn't been, like, a long time coming." Pacifica scoffed, as if it was so simple. Like everything was just sugar and cream on planet earth, and there wasn't global warming, or world hunger, or spreading pandemics, or- **oh, here's something** \- my entire universe crumbling to pieces in a matter of seconds. I stepped back from her, hailing a thing of fire just short of anything I'd given Bill in the last month.

" _You_ did this? Wha-? _Why_?! Paz, what're you _thinking_-?!"

"I'm _thinking_ you've played around enough." Pacifica snapped, my heat ricocheting off her expression like nothing. "Rip the bandage off, man. Come _on_! It's taken this long."

"Because I'm not fucking _ready_, Pacifica!" I could feel an odd dizziness overtake me, noting the subtle way my veins tightened, released, and almost imploded with the level of blood rushing to and from my brain. Too much tension. Too much iron. This was completely uncalled for. "I told you about this last _night_! _I'm_ still having a hard time understanding all this! How am I supposed to explain to my sister and my- my- _Wendy_ that I'm-?!" I paused, grinding my teeth. My lungs couldn't take in enough air, no matter how widely they stretched. My clothes felt too tight. The day, too hot. Oh God, bad idea. Horrible idea. The worst possible thing to ever cross my mind.

" Gay? Dipper, you're _gay_. Not a serial killer. Not a rapist. A guy-liker, and that's okay, right? Who the hell cares?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe my _girlfriend_. "

"It's gonna end eventually, poindexter. I promise, if you aren't even attracted to what's _underneath_, it's not gonna last."

"_You're fucking shallow_." A low blow, and unrelated, but no way was I just letting her have this. This sense of moral superiority, like it was just that easy. Sure, it was simple on paper. But, holy fuck, was the real-deal a rollercoaster. Pacifica hardly flinched at my comment.

"Welcome to real life, nerd." She shrugged, patting my shoulder pleasantly. Hell if she was getting that kind of friendliness from me. I nudged her off with a hurt expression. "Take it from a grade-A cheater; when it comes to screwing different partners, they always find out. _Always_. "

"I know. I _know_. Jesus, Paz. I'm not saying I _won't_ tell her, but-. But, why now? Why _today_?"

"'Cause you're stalling." Pacifica shot effortlessly, taking a moment to herself so she could position her arms in the most condescending cross known to man.

"I am _not_-."

"There you go again: _Denial_. You know, pretending the problem doesn't exist doesn't make it _imaginary_, Dipper. Like credit card bills, or the little extra fat under people's arms, or that cashmere sweater I _know_ doesn't look good with any of my outfits, but I wear anyway, because it's designer." She paused, mulling over her comment almost concerningly. Her hands went up, waving the thought away after a beat. "My point is, you've been holding this in forever, dude! I've known you for, like, ten years and never once heard anything about you sucking dick or doing any of the crazy shit you've been doing recently."

"I'm _new_ at this!" I protested with inflamed skin. I could feel my ears burn at the tips, most likely switching to a shade of crimson; definitely visible. Paz snorted at me, noting the color change.

"And, that's _fine_! It's totally okay! It's no one's business what you get up to in your freetime-."

"Except yours, apparently-."

"As long as you're _clear_ about it, Dipper. To everyone. Your friends, your family, your _self_."

"And who's job is it to force me into this, exactly?" I retorted, willing a heavy glare. She did not get to do this. She did not choose when I could come out- when I should. It was completely my own. Mine, and no one else's. Friend or not, this didn't concern her. She was just sticking her nose in other people's business, like she always did. "Since when did I leave it up to you to make all my life choices?"

" God, Dipper. Don't say it like _that_." Pacifica sighed, sliding a hand along the tips of her hair as she grimaced at my accusing tone. "You know I'm not trying to force it onto you-."

"Then why _are_ you?"

"I'm not."

"Tell that to the plus-one sharing a plate of hash browns with my sister." Pacifica shrank just a little from my comment. Good. I needed some space to get my thoughts in order. "Why didn't you _tell me_ Wendy was gonna be here?"

"Because you would've chickened out! Dipper, honestly. I know it's scary now, but you need to do this! _Today_. "

" _Why_ today?" I groaned.

"Because, the second that brain of yours gets thinking, you'll figure out ways of _avoiding_ it. You'll dodge her. Not return calls, or text back, forget movie night, and stop joining her for dates out, and don't even _think_ about denying it, because I _know_ you." She placed a hand on her chest, eyes sharp and pleading. Her brow was knit worriedly, as though saying she really did care. But, there was no way telling with her. "I get this is overwhelming as hell right now, and- if I'm being honest- it really freaks me out that you're waiting till now to tell people. And, it's none of my business knowing the reason-."

"Okay, great. So, we're on the same page?" I expected her to snap at me. The heavy drop of my gut when she only frowned, looked away and sighed was almost palpable. Pacifica continued.

"But, you should _talk about it_, Dipper. You _should_. You're always so _secretive_ about things, and you probably think keeping people out of your head is helping them, but- like, you're _hurting_ them. It's not fair to Mabel, pushing her away from this part of you. It's not fair to me, or your partner, and it sure as hell isn't fair to _Wendy_." A dollop of sweat, sliding down the underside of my hand. I rubbed it against my jeans, only to feel the pant leg stick to my knee. My throat made an effort of swallowing, only for the chafe rip of dryness to clog my windpipes.

" ...I know." Was all I could tell her. And, I knew Paz knew she'd struck a chord with me. Her hand went out, acrylic nails flexed, to rest peacefully along the side of my arm. Only then did I notice how badly she'd wanted to comfort me; the fingers, squeezing mine. The hand shrugged from my shoulder. How her nails played with the edge of her bracelet, wanting to stretch, but not.

"You know I'm not trying to pressure you, right?" Pacifica's head ducked down to meet my lowered daze, but I couldn't indulge her now. It felt cruel having to view her in this state of embarrassment. She only sighed. "You're on the road to recovery, genius. You made the first step _last night_. Maybe that's fast for you , but for everyone _else_, well- you're at least eight years late." Paz tried a laugh. When only a plastic chortle fell from her lips, she abandoned the lighter option, and continued on a serious note. "I'm not trying to shame you. I'm not trying to push you. But, you can't hide anymore, Dipper. Not from this. Not from _her_. It's time; today. And that's not just my agenda, whether you wanna believe it or not. It's _yours_."

A snake coiled in my chest, tingling along the outer layers of bone enamel and arteries. She had me, Pacifica. Not to be caught with guards down, proving me wrong through the occasional sneak attack. She wasn't trying to snag me. Berate or belittle. I sensed a tightness against my heart, my wrists, and the back of my tailbone, all signals bouncing rhythmically through the intricate system of my nerve endings. Paz had my back in this, and-.

I never gave her enough credit for being the friend she was.

Her grip became firm, then soft against my arm, bringing me back to the present.

"I'm gonna be right there, loser. Okay? We're gonna go in there, strutt our stuff, order some _pancakes_-. " Pacifica tried for a playful tone, and I couldn't help but indulge her with a small giggle. She brightened, just barely, giving my arm a slight jerk before releasing me. "-and tell everyone what a lesbian you are." Her words were lighthearted, with the rarest of grins stretching the glassy smudge of Christian Louboutin Lip Gloss , while her eyes shone with something entirely new.

No. I never gave her enough credit.

I snorted at her remark, unable to fight the sudden well of appreciation my heart sang on her behalf.

"No, you." I willed. Her beam of assurance was more than enough in that instance, when she laughed, hooked her arm around mine, and led us into the diner.

We entered Greasy's with the greeting of a bell; sharp, shrill, chilling. A simple glance in her direction- a force of habit at this point- to see how Pacifica handled it. Not even a flinch. Her arms hardly tightened around mine, and aside from her coincidental blink timed to drop just as the ring emulated, all features seemed indifferent to the noise. Another smile, this one weak and hidden, simply there to praise her in the moment. Not to be noticed, or felt, or seen; only to be given in secret. It was now that she could stand, headstrong, back straight, eyes up, and trail the interruption as a sort of triumph. Every encounter, a won battle.

Something I couldn't imagine experiencing.

" Hey! Yo, _dude_!"

Not for a long time.

Wendy smiled, eyes twinkling with something fresh, surprised, and completely unaware as to what was happening. Her chest became tone, hand raised and body elevated in an effort to get my attention. Because, as far as she knew, it was just supposed to be her, Pacifica, and Mabel. And for Mabel, who'd made a slow, treacherous turn to view whoever it was Wendy was beckoning over, it was just her, Wendy, and Paz. It seemed all three of us had been duped by the ever-sly movements of our thick-pocketed friend.

The dry, lost expression my sister shot me as I made an awkward B-line around the wattresses, ducking under trays and around frilling skirts, was almost enough for me to ' nope not happening nevermind sorry.' Pacifica's grip was firm though, and the instance my form suggested a slight struggle, she was quick to counteract it with a yank. Her smile broke for only an instance, just enough to shoot me a look. We were here. We were ready. We were doing this.

"Omg, hey! Like, guess who _I_ bumped into this morning?" Paz pulled me ahead, her expensive grin replacing whatever human thing she'd been minutes before. She patted my chest, forcing what little attention wasn't already on me down my throat. "Hope you guys don't care I brought _this_ nerd along for girl-time; He wouldn't leave me alone." She scoffed, rolling her eyes. And, perhaps if I hadn't been made of stone, the comment would've stung. But, it didn't. Bumped, but didn't scrape.

" Psh! Whatever." Wendy laughed, blowing me a soft grin. She scooted farther in her booth, patting down an empty spot for me. "Come on, man. You're one of the girls today." Her body language was expectant. Eyes, deprived of any and all knowledge, lacking spite, betrayal, or wrath. Yes; she was unaware. Which meant…

Mabel hadn't ratted me out.

I swallowed, once again met with an abnormally dry mouth. It was then that I realized my legs hadn't made a move towards the booth, Pacifica clearing her throat with a casual nudge in its direction. I stumbled just slightly, hands placed on the table and seat's broken leather in an effort of scooting in. It was awkward of course, as all other aspects were. My knee hitched up, justling the table from below, while my elbow nearly jabbed Wendy's eye out. She was quick though, sliding out of range of my disoriented figure.

When I'd finally gotten myself situated, hands placed palms down over splitting cedar, I noted a subtle tap under the table, against my ankle. A slick, hot pink heel nudging just below my fibula, touching twice before sliding away. I looked at Pacifica, already staring back, who gave me an assuring nod, as well as an uncertain smirk. I nodded back.

" So, what's on the menu today? Waffles or pancakes? Mabel?" Wendy turned casually, arms behind her head, tossing the younger a spirited smile. My sister started in place, having been tracing the wooden table's growth rings. Eyes up, lips tucked in, brows furrowed and tight the instance our gazes met. Only an instance before snapping away.

She tested a smile, but the corners grew wiggly and limp, deprived of their usual spark of adventure. Mabel's body was angled from me, towards the window. She held up her left hand to her cheek, creating a subtle barrier between the two of us. Everything about her was tucked in, secured. From me. From Pacifica. And, still deciding if it was too much to barricade against Wendy. Blinking once, as though unsure her name had been spoken, she shrugged.

"Huh? Oh. Pancakes are fine, I guess…" Mabel said finally, turning her view back to the table. Her finger went out, tracing the darkened shapes of swirling spirals and rings, something Wendy was quick about addressing. She reached her hand out, touching the other lightly on the knuckles.

"Hey. You 'kay, man? Feel sick?" My- Wendy asked, giving Mabel's hand a soft squeeze. She slid her hand back from the freckled digits, expression darkening poorly. Head lowered, my sister's eyes rose to meet the guilty pair staring her way, pitying her, regretting every instance of fornication, and hating how likely I was to do it again. I tried to understand her expression, but it was encrypted by a wisp of curly brown strands. This time, I was the one to look away.

"No, I'm-. I'm just tired, you know? Waddles got hungry and ate my new sweater-prints, so I had to wait for them to come out the other end."

" _Ew_ ." Paz commented simply, the ghost of a beam gracing her features. She tapped me again, this time at the toe of my shoe. I tried to smile along. "You ever considered, like, buying your clothes?"

" _Hey_." Wendy laughed, placing a finger on the salt shaken. She made great work of rolling it on its round corners, keeping it upright like a top. "She's eccentric. No harm in that." Her elbow turned out, bopping the edge of my tricep. "Right, dude?"

My eyes turned up, meeting Pacifica, briefly viewing Mabel, before landing on her with a lax expression. Something I hadn't honestly seen in the last month. Casual. Bold, with a charming bluntness. Teeth, white, snuggled between pretty lips quirked up in a smile. The usual dust of pink along either cheek bone, as well as a tad around the ears. She'd gotten a haircut lord-knows when, leaving the tips exposed. But, oddly enough, it was her forehead that had me the most entranced. When was the last time I'd seen that skin not wrinkled? Not pressed between knit brows? Not upturned in worry or doubt? Not questioning things?

Holy shit, she was healing .

Which made this a million times worse.

"Uh… Y-_yeah_! Totally. Absolutely, it's-... Very unique, which is cool, and-." Pacifica's heel dug lightly into the webbing of my foot. I shut my mouth. "It's nice."

" See, Paz?" Wendy snickered, ruffling a hand through my hair. " _Someone_ here appreciates the finer things." A pat of the head, a nudge of my shoulder, before her hand was slipping down. Over my hair, across my ear, down my neck to stop innocently on my shoulder. Wendy pulled me a little closer. Mabel gave me a look, once more obscured by the hair loose from her band. But, in them, I was positive I could pick out only the purest of dreads. For what, I wasn't entirely sure.

"Big words for a peasant." Pacifica retorted in that tone that just barely teetered between completely joking and dead serious. Wendy dismissed the latter, choosing to accept even the lowest of fruits for humor.

"Classic Paz." Wendy's arm around my neck grew tighter, forcing my body to lean into her. I looked up for advice from my wing woman, only to note the slight cringe of her nose. Her eyes darted away, fixing themselves with something like plastic confidence. Like Jesus beckoning Peter onto the Sea of Galilee; but this time, a plunge head-first into crashing waves was only possible. This was a bad idea once more, and the storm would certainly capsize my boat.

Still, I went in, keeping my back as straight and un-cuddleable as possible.

" Mornin', dolls! " Came an unorthodox, wayward tone just short of a Massachusetts accent. We all jumped collectively, startled to see Lazy Susan with her notepad in hand. "Can I start you cuties off with a salmon ?"

"Uh… _No_. " Pacifica's lip hitched in distaste, looking to the group as though to ask, ' is anyone else hearing this?' "I'll have a salad."

"Sure thing, pumpkin." She turned to me. "How 'bout you, Mr. Big shot?" I tried to respond, finger raised haphazardly in an act of compliance. But, I took a breath, and could feel my adams apple nudge Wendy's wrist, and the base of my chin grazed her hand, and I could feel her arm hairs tickling my neck, and her eyes on me, her exhales dusting over my skin, her nails curling against my bomber jacket-.

"He'll just have pancakes." Pacifica jumped in seamlessly, comment locked and loaded before I'd even taken a second breath. L. Suzan wrote it down.

"Steak?" Wendy asked her, tilting her head curiously. And, in the act, a bit of her hair landed across my collar bone. I grew rigid.

"Just for you, Corduroy!" The waitress pointed at her playfully with finger guns. Finally, she turned to Mabel.

"And you, hun?" My sister's head was now down, brow pressed deathly against the surface. Her voice was just barely heard against a heavy mumble.

" S...p." She groaned. Lazy Susan leaned in.

"I'm sorry, dear?" Mabel tilted her head up this time, eyes snapped shut and nose wrinkled.

" _SYRUP_!" Down she went again, hiding her face with a curtain of brown curls. The waitress wrote it down.

"Coming right up!" She wobbled away, leaving us to our own accord, not without giving the ' happy couple' a coy grin. "Don't get _too_ friendly now, you hear?" She teased, making Wendy laugh out loud. She grabbed for a light pink sugar packet, snapping it back before letting the small thing fly through the air and land in Lazy Susan's high hair.

"As _if_. " The expression was nice, baring no true hostility or offense. Simply the light joy of someone hanging with friends, catching breakfast, and alleviated from guilt. Her hand went to clasp mine under the table, and I thought I might throw up.

Once Susan was out of the way, Pacifica was quick to address me.

"So, Dipper . How's **work** going?" She asked casually, giving my foot yet another light tap. I weighed her expression heartily, hoping to grasp the exact meaning.

"Uh… _Fine_. Still looking for-. You know."

"Yeah. I know." Her tone was airy, uninterested. She leaned in with a low whisper. " **_Bill_**." I straightened at the comment, shuffling just slightly in my seat. Bad idea. Wendy's grip became a bit stronger.

"Speaking of ' _Bill_.' " I choked on nothing, body lurching forward as I caught my lips behind a tight fist. My gaze shot up to view her, only to find Paz wasn't watching for my reaction. She was watching Mabel.

Cold. Very quiet. Still, mumbling just barely when the name came about, but more than a little intrigued. My sister refused to look at me, tracing the table's patterns more intimately. I shot Pacifica one among many frustrated expressions, hoping she understood exactly why this wasn't the way to go about things. I couldn't just- draw it out . Like getting on topic was an easy route.

_' Oh, speaking of Bill, I'm gay.'_

"How's your partner doing? I haven't heard from him recently." She went on, hands going to cradle her chin. I wanted nothing more than to swipe those elbows out from under her.

"... _Fine_." I grit. She only smiled.

"Has he texted you recently? I'll bet he's, like, _super_ bored without you."

I saw Mabel, out of the corner of my eye, rub a discrete hand over her cheek, as though wiping away tears. My features darkened; if only I could tell Paz to stop, and Mabel I wasn't trying to rub it in, and Wendy I didn't want her. Her head went to rest snuggly against my shoulder, like we'd done back when things had just started. When I made heart eyes at her, and she'd give me affectionate noogies and ironic air kisses, because romance was such a cliche in Wendy's life; doing otherwise was worse than heroin.

She'd snuggle up, and I'd throw an arm around her shoulders and feel how broad everything was. Her legs would be shaved up until the knees, where everything sprouted with unruly red curls, and I had still felt guilty for wondering if the curtains matched the carpet. She'd scratch her neck, yawn, and snort smuggly with every breath of life, all the while I was given this single lifetime to hold her, envelope myself in Irish Springs , and believe in an ' us. '

Here was a prime example of Dramatic Irony.

I took a breath, and Wendy was even closer now, pressing her smile to my shoulder. I gulped.

"He-... _Hasn't_. He's probably busy doing whatever, you know?" I tried to toss Mabel a bone, but her eyes were still dead-set on tracing the table.

" O-o-o-h. Are you guys talking about the new blond dude in town? With the eyepatch?" Wendy offered, lifting her head just barely from my shoulder, only to snap back down once the statement was out.

" '_New_ ?'" Pacifica guffawed. "He's been here for a _month_, Wendy."

"_And_? We've lived here our entire lives, dude. He's on our side of the playground now, wherever he's from. Fresh meat. " The toyish grin Wendy offered was almost gut-wrenching to see. I used to love when she made that face. It made her look so cool.

" Oh? Is that _so_?" A different kind of look in Pacifica's eyes. Three taps on the shin, a bit harder than the rest, like forcing me to brace myself. She had the usual mischievous quirk to her lips, as well as a threaded eyebrow pulled like an arrow. It would've seemed devious, if not for the slight hesitation; a moment's rest as she sucked in a breath, steadied her gaze, and tightened the glint of her stare. Preparing, not enjoying. Whatever Paz was doing, she knew perfectly well its effect, as well as its risk. I saw her hand, just slightly, dust along the edge of the table and rest the edges of her acrylic nails against Mabel. A caution. A warning.

"Better not say that in front of your boyfriend. He might get jealous of the competition." Pacifica cooed, maintaining that sly look about her. I couldn't help but feel she was pushing; pressing down on the situation in hopes of building up pressure, tension, before the truth popped out in a flurry of disaster. Which was…

Probably the worst way of going about things.

Wendy laughed heartily at the comment, rubbing her pale cheek against my shoulder like a feline. It was like old times, in that instance of contact. She felt happy next to me, and not tight, or restricted, or confused. Right. And, she felt she could touch me again. Wendy felt she could laugh at that, because things had eased up. Things were back to normal.

But, things weren't.

Things were drumming at a whole new pace.

"You think?" Wendy mused, taking her free hand to pat against my chest. I flinched, giving my wing woman a pleading look.

_'Ease up, ease up, ease up.'_

"Oh, _hell_ yeah. I mean- have you _seen_ that guy? Total hottie!" Total hottie. Absolute deity. Beyond attractive.

The reason I was in this fucking mess.

"Definitely. _Definitely_. Ten out of ten." She agreed, putting a bit of her weight against me. "Don't you agree, Dipper?" Wendy looked up with a gamesome expression; teasing. I cleared my throat, not daring to even look at Mabel now.

In a different world- a perfect world- we'd all be here, in this booth, at this time, talking about Bill on equal plains of attraction. We'd gossip, share trade secrets for the bedroom, and pick on each other and our ' infatuation' with Bill. Specifically me. And, the girls would get all squealy and personal, and tell me to just up and ask him if I liked him so much. I'd get flustered and tell them to shut up, even though, deep down, the encouragement was flattering. No one would get too close; no one would put their arm around me, cuddle, and try to feel intimate. Because, they would know without a doubt, the action was pointless.

They weren't my type.

"Oh- uh-. I… _guess_? " Wendy barked a cackle, leaning back.

"Calm _down_, dude. I'm just kidding. "

"Oh, so Bill's _not_ a ten out of ten?" Paz questioned. Wendy let out another snort.

"He is. He _definitely_ is." Wendy countered vigorously, nodding with a new-found zeal. " Just… Not my type." She finished slyly, the hand on my chest making a small circle. Which was far more intimate than she'd ever been in public. We hardly held hands on the street, just a month before. Perhaps this was her way of making up for lost time.

"Is your type nerdy-McDorkFace over there?" Paz pointed at me. I couldn't even find the will to frown, though.

Wendy didn't laugh this time. Only sat, smiled a little, and held me close enough to stop the blood flow around my neck. It would've been cute, I realised, if I'd still been confused. When she turned to look at me, chin propped on my shoulder, gaze set high, forcing me to lean back just to stay in focus of her features. Her lips quirked with something tender; passionate. A kind of affection almost deprived. Starved to bits after weeks upon weeks of isolation. And, so casual- so natural- I might not have noticed if it weren't for the slight tap of my foot.

" Hmm… _Yeah_."

She leaned in for a kiss.

I jerked away.

Her grip faltered.

I wrestled out of the hold.

She gasped.

I slid from the booth, onto the floor with an awkward fumble, before getting to my feet and facing her with something like territorial defense.

Wendy's eyes went wide, body having been pulled forth in the sudden rush, arms out to catch her against the seat as she looked at me and gaped.

Mabel had finally looked up, finger still pressed along the lines of the table, that indecipherable expression of hers finally decipherable.

Worry.

Untainted, unaggressive, unhinged worry.

For me.

For what I'd gotten myself into.

For how I intended on getting myself out.

And, for the man I would become afterwards.

She wasn't sure I knew myself anymore, and it frightened her.

"I-." The words, I felt, were supposed to be mine. Looking at Wendy now, lips curling in, face flushing dramatically, and the slightest of breaks in her voice; they should've belonged to me. But, they didn't. They belonged to her. She shook her head, pulling herself back with a slow, calculated slide, like a zoo keeper refraining from sudden movement; to keep the animal calm, unafraid, lest it do something to hurt them both. "I'm-... _Sorry_. I didn't mean to ." Wendy whispered, only to swallow.

"I shouldn't have-..." Wendy continued, only to sniff. She turned from me, sitting up to wage the meal Lazy Susan swiftly set in front of her. Steak. She pushed the plate away, angled herself out of the booth, and started to stand. "Sorry, I-. That was-... I should _go_." She pulled herself up, keeping head low as her thin, frail figure dodged my presence. And I, like every stupid guy on the planet, was quick about following her outside.

"_Hey_!" I called for her retreating figure. "Wendy, _yo_-!" I slipped on a damp twig before regaining my footing. I cupped a hand against my mouth, hoping to throw my voice far enough to reach her. She just kept up the quick pace, arms swinging heavily, thrusting her forward with each stride. It wasn't until I cut the light shit and went after her in a sprint that my gait matched hers.

I rushed in front of her, curling five fingers around her wrist. "Look, I'm sorry-!" Wendy snatched her arm away from me, head lower than before. "I didn't-... Well, I _did_ , but-... Hey, so funny story, actually…" I tried to get her attention- tried to force those eyes to watch me flair painfully- but she wouldn't so much as glance up.

" Dipper… " She shook her head, bringing a hand to dry away whatever cracked along her gaze. I tried to put a hand on her shoulder as comfort, but the pressure was lacking- cold- unattracted. Wendy's breath hitched, backing away from my grip. "I-... I should've known we couldn't just- just be _normal_ after that night. I should've _known_, and I-." Wendy paused, pulling her bottom lip in. She shivered. "I've been _so_ fucking dumb, dude."

"Whoa! Hey, _no_! You- you've been smarter about this than I have, trust me-." I bent down to grab either shoulder now, trying to force a look from her. This time, she broke from my grip with spite.

"I feel like a fucking predator, oh my god." A hand went up, sliding down her face with a bit of nail. "I mean-. You were a goddam _kid_, like, yesterday, right? And, I said I was too _old_ for you. But, then you came _back_, and you were tall, and drank, and had weird stories about high school, and I just fucking-. I thought it was _okay_ to-. But- But, you weren't _ready_ and I should've known not to pressure you and I'm- I'm- !"

"You're _not_! " My tone came out in a desperate laugh, forcing either hand on her cheeks, bringing her gaze up. I tried to smile, but my lips only shriveled, paled, and shook at the tiny ounce of hope I'd given her by this simple contact. Like I would kiss her. Like the gesture would be returned. But, I didn't. I just stood, cradled her head, and made sure those eyes saw me before finally sliding away.

"You're- you're _Wendy_ , man. The coolest girl I know. You weren't trying to take _advantage_ of me, come on! That's- that's _stupid_, don't you think?" She shook her head, fighting against the urge to bow it again. All for me.

"No. Dipper-. What we did- what happened- ... It fucked things up. _I_ fucked things up, and I know it's because of me that we're so- so fucking _weird_! " She threw her hands up in frustration. "We haven't talked in weeks! You hardly call, and when I call you, all I can think about is- is how you _looked_, and _sounded_ , and- and fucking _felt_ and it's so fucked up I can't- I fucking _can't_ , okay?" She cried out, wiping a hand under her nose, eyes screwed shut. "_ I fucking can't…_"

"_Wendy_…" I breathed out, my hand once more going to touch her. She was one step ahead of me though, scooting away from even the slightest of contacts. Wendy felt… guilty. More guilty than I'd known. The kind of guilt I understood . For doing someone so dirty, it made your skin crawl- made you an unclean bastard. The only clear difference between them and convicted murderers being that one was behind bars and the other wasn't. I pressed ahead, hoping to grab her. She stepped away.

"You're not the one who should feel sorry." I countered woefully. She didn't address me, or, more likely, didn't want to hear it. Because I was trying to make her feel better. I was trying to levy her crime with some kind of one-up. A cheap excuse for repentance. A cry for normality. To get the simplest of smiles from her. Because, despite all she'd done to me, everything I'd been put through for her lack of discretion, an inability to provide for me in my time of need, I'd been the perfect boyfriend.

Which was a complete and utter lie.

"I screwed you over, Wendy. I screwed you over big time, and you don't even _know_. I-I never even planned on _telling_ you. I would've died before telling you if things hadn't gotten so damn _complicated_, and you would've been none the wiser."

"If you're trying to shift the blame, it's not gonna-."

"Wendy, I'm _cheating_ on you."

And, everything stilled.

All became pale and crusted and blank, like every bit of life on earth was sucked dry. She looked at me in disbelief- humor- dread- despair- only to shake her head and laugh.

"Jesus, and Mabel says you're not funny." Wendy sniffed, rubbing her nose on her sleeve. Perhaps now was the time to laugh, and save myself this shame. I could still win. I could still get the best out of this situation, and live a double life; get married, move to the suburbs, have kids, and die empty but exact. Absolute. Knowing in my heart what I was, but able still to hold my head high. Smile, wave, and say without a shadow of a doubt that my background (as far as anyone was concerned) was squeaky clean.

I didn't, though. I just stood, frowned, and shoved away the fantasy as Wendy's eyes became severely unsure. She tried for a second laugh, hoping I'd add one this time. I didn't breath. I didn't blink. Her face faltered.

"You wouldn't-... do that to me. You're a- a good guy, I know." I shook my head slowly, making Wendy flush then pale. She almost hissed in pain, taking another step back, as though cradling a burn. "It's not funny, Dipper. You're making this- _not_ funny."

"It's not supposed to be." I put my hands away finally, sure I couldn't get so much as a wisp of her hair between my fingers now. Her expression was gut wrenching. "I'm-... I just wanna be honest with you, Wendy. It's all… new to me. I'm not sure how to convince you it's true."

She looked at me. Down at my feet, up to my hair, and finally into my eyes, hoping- praying- to find the childish mirth of a twelve year old. But, all landscapes were barren. I was a man. No child could play a trick so cruel. Like that, Wendy's eyes began to glow with a kind of wrath unseen by casual gazes. A slight snarl, a hiss, and she was coming that much closer, as though to advance on me. Her sight went up, boring into me like lasers.

" **Who? **" She growled through tears, wiping them away once before continuing. " **With _who_? **"

A ball in my gut, throbbing and turning and spiking and burning with the thriving shake of regret. A vague memory came to mind; a day in my youth, climbing atop the swivel chair of dad's office, reaching for a leather backed novel that caught my eye: Dante's Inferno. And, within the crusted yellow of torn pages and slices of fabric, was the mournful punishment of lust.

'_Love, which in gentlest hearts will soonest bloom_

_seized my lover with passion for that sweet body_

_from which I was torn unshriven to my doom.'_

I huffed, shivering at the memory, before being snapped back to reality. Wendy looked at me like something far more interesting now; something ruined, tainted, ravaged. Perhaps a whore. Perhaps the glances befallen young women of Doe Town. Or, perhaps something crafted of my own accord. I couldn't be sure. I never would be.

All I knew was his name.

"_Bill_." I gave out to the open wind, feeling as a sudden gust lifted the name, carried it up, and held it somewhere far from me. And, for all the pain riding through my spine, burning my core, rekindling the broken wrong I'd slit my childhood friend with, I couldn't help but feel… lighter . When she pulled back, glanced me up and down, and determined how honest I was; lighter. I definitely didn't deserve the sensation. Coming clean after a dirty trick like that shouldn't have felt so rewarding. No. It should've lasted longer. The shame shouldn't have softened even a little; it was too kind a thing, feeling this.

But, clarity was temporary. Karma, certain. I had to prepare myself for whatever tax was dished out for this. I'd have to brace the future, and understand the worst was yet to come. Later. Now, I only had this. This sense of levity.

And the stinging burn of Wendy's five-fingered slap across my face.


	34. Paranoid

Bill's limp form lay- sprawled out, chest rising and falling- on the stiff, chafing cotton of his apartment's worn couch. His one eye was closed, a bare twitch of the lid signal to any outsider of rapid movement; perhaps dreaming. But, what did a demon of his status need for _dreams_? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. The phone he'd used only last night was still clutched between tight fingers, brute strength present even while unconscious.

Laminate flooring had been decorated- it seemed- in the clear shards of a fish tank, the last of his bowls and plates, and the apartment's TV, now battered and broken against dirty white.

Hell, he'd been angry.

Angrier still, when he charged along the crumbs of glass, reached for his phone, and still found his messages ignored. Bill would have laughed at the situation, if it hadn't been aided with the grimy tang of blatant bitterness. He looked to the screen- out the window- the dripping faucet- the broken TV- and almost demolished his phone.

Had he honestly let his prey _loose_? Had Dipper, unknownst to Bill, been on to his little games? When he lured him in- made him _feel _for the partner- and molded a trend of seeing each other in secret? Kept it tight, locked and sealed from anyone who could suspect the two of any connections outside of work? Of being '_lovers_' or whatever the hell they were?

Bill had played it so _perfectly, _though! He'd gone through the plans numerous times, and hadn't foreseen even a slight pause in the slow build of… _them. _And, what's worse, the benefits had been _all _his. When the kid came over without telling Mabel: _Win. _When he grew pliant and responsive: _Win. _When he became comfortable in Bill's presence; unsuspecting, unquestioning: Fucking _win._ And, if Bill had to be 100 percent real with himself- which he found to be a rather hard practice- having pure, soft white skin tucked under his chest, folded into his palms, wasn't too far from a win either.

But, he'd never admit it.

It didn't matter now. Dipper hadn't responded. He _wouldn't. _No matter how many texts, calls, or video chats were shot ahead, but down. How many days now? A week? Two? Bill wasn't sure. But, he was damn near tearing his eyepatch off and burning it with the frustration he felt. He was supposed to _lure him in!_ Instead, he played at it; the whole situation was too damn entertaining to resist even a _slight _postponing. So, perhaps he could admit to something.

Their… whatever… had been _fun. _

Who was to tell a hunter not to play with his food? He'd _caught _it, after all. Hell, if he could hang it on the goddamn _wall, _he could surely pick at it on his plate. It was an attractive meal, for fuck's sake! Nice to look at, with that sweet smell about it, and maybe a tad too hot for consuming all at once. Best to savor it.

Savor it?

_Savor _it?

Well, fuck! Maybe so, if the platter hadn't still been _kicking!_ A whole goddamn deer on his goddamn plate bent on the doorway, and Bill'd thought to make it a _game?! _Now, _that _Bill could laugh at. To think he'd let things get so cozy between them, convinced his pinetree was sitting pretty in the palm of his hand, when really- _Fuck_. That cunning little minx had gotten the drop on him.

No calls.

No texts.

Didn't _dare _clock in for work.

Probably on the next flight to Portugal for all Bill knew, laughing his ass off at how easy it had been to outwit the dopey woodsman.

He'd have Dipper's head for this. Sever his limbs. Drain his blood. Suck him of every _ounce_, just to watch that darling frame of his shrivel up, crack and fade. Yes, Bill was mad.

Perhaps that was what he dreamt of.

A sudden jerk of the knee had him coming to life, bolting from his cramped position on the tacky cabriole couch. Bill let loose a small snort, almost catching himself along the armrest, but failing still to keep from rolling onto his side, over the scratchy pillows, onto dull carpeting.

"_Fuck-!_" He hissed, face eating red wool when his still-clothed chest met the ground. There was a groan, the buzzing confusion of a quick fall, followed by unbridled rage. Somehow- _somehow- _this was Dipper's fault. Bill's nails tucked into the forestry of woven fibers, a sharp heat stuttering along his spinal cord, spilling through his shoulders, feeding slowly into the tips of his fingers.

Fire had become a bit of a challenge in the past few days. It now took Bill breaking a slight sweat to elicit the same flame needed to light his cigarettes. But, what was to be expected of someone completely consumed by the seeming failure of his own ignorance? He'd burned himself out, it would seem.

Still, lying on the carpet, clutching red with blitzes of fury, Bill found within himself the draw of easy flames licking along his nails, into the carpet. A light smoke rose from his grasp, hearing the subtle pop of polypropylene under lines of wool. He snarled, baring a tight grimace over his gums and teeth, nearly biting away a patch of red string as the heat bounced. This was _his _fault. This was all the work of that tricky little fuck.

Bill felt he could burn down the entire apartment complex- and all of Gravity Falls, at that- only for an odd cord to pause his sudden rage.

He… wasn't in bed. He'd been on the couch. Not that he used either products as a need for rest. In fact, he didn't need rest at _all. _This body- this _flesh- _didn't run on sleep. Ever. If he ever _did _sleep, it was by boredom, not necessity. There were approximately _zero _laws of physics within his own mind, and Bill was strictly a lucid dreamer; like being back in the mind scape. A bit of nostalgia for old time's sake.

But, Bill _hadn't _felt nostalgic. Not last night. Only the eternal drum of heat, rage- perhaps a bit blue balled- and revenge. He _would _get Dipper for this. He _would _have his revenge. But slowly, very slowly, the hours packed long. His calls, unanswered. His texts read but un-replied to. The phone would ring on his end, chirp, and die. Before he knew it, the witching hour drew forth, and his heavily worded threats seemed more bark than bite.

There was a weight to be felt in this. Deep breaths; going under, rising up, filling, and dispersing. The instant drop of hate, but perhaps not libido. A swallow- a blink- staring dumbly at the burning moan of blue light. He _would _get Dipper for this. He _would _have his…

The remark veered off, and Bill found his mind cracked on its reserve, if only just barely. He found himself falling into queeries of mondain living, the unorthodox pattern of life, death, and dark. His thoughts wandered through a pasture, tinted dull and white- flung north to the natural habitat of lemurs and scarlet ibis. Bill's mind refused to settle- away from one, snatched for another- until he couldn't quite remember what he'd been thinking about to begin with.

His eye lingered on the screen a moment more, vaguely aware of the irritating sting of light, before his hand dropped. Still clutching the device, but now numb and weirdly calm. His lid became heavy, the alien sensation of a yawn enveloping his chest, before finally he shut his eye.

And _slept._

Bill Cipher _slept._ On _accident. _

Oh, that kid was running his ragged, that was for sure.

The sudden realization almost had him, too. If it weren't for the barest strings of pride he still kept himself up with, Bill would've felt down-right _disgraced. _But, he was a good sport; he could play along when points went to the opposite team.So, instead of making a human barbeque out of Gravity Falls' charming airbnb, he snorted at the notiant. Well, if the kid wanted to play _hard ball!_

He could always do away with Shooting Star.

Of course, Bill hadn't been so bold as to force his way into the kid's apartment last week, but he'd certainly stopped by. To… _'check up' _on the little squirt. And, who might-you-ask answered the door that day?

No one.

Absolutely no one.

Even after he knocked, straightened himself, and posed an endearing smirk; something he was _sure _Dipper would've dropped to his knees for in an instance. But, perhaps the kid had already skipped town. Bill certainly hadn't seen anything of him in the last week. Still, a glimpse of short brown hair and puppy-dog earrings would flash by every so often when he was occupied. And, wasn't it _so _unlike Mabel to wisk by without having a word?

No doubt, she was onto him.

Just as suspected, the door remained unanswered. Three knocks with a rhythmic chirp before backing away, sliding a hand over golden hair- and trying once more for a response. No such luck. There _was _however the light draw of a shadow over the peephole. A moment, lingering- as though considering- before it slunk away, leaving Bill to his own impatience. Perhaps she felt she could hide from him? Surely, he wouldn't bust down the door if Mabel refused to serve him.

Well… Not _yet. _

But, soon.

Once his powers were _finally _close to regenerating, which wasn't far from now. Give it two- maybe _three- _weeks. By God, was he going to have a field day _then. _Hell, he'd have a whole _soiree _after the humiliation he'd faced a decade before. That damn family was going to feel it just as hard as he had, and _worse. _Soon. Very soon.

Just not now.

After a moment more of waiting, Bill found his own gracious presence was poorly spent in front of smoothed-down cedar. He plucked boldly at his shirt collar, flicking away what looked to be a sapped-golden pine needle. How distasteful. The strand flew from his fingers, through the air, and stuck gooishly against the door. Bill laughed, if only to bear down the stinging last of wasted time, before turning on his heels and trudging away empty handed.

The memory stung, no doubt. But, there was clarity in it. Pinetree was gone? Fair enough. He'd be back once shooting star dangled teasingly from a fishing line. He'd always been the type to fall into Bill's hands. Maybe it was the mark of a hero, bolting full-speed into the most jarringly explicit traps known to man. Perhaps that was what kept Bill from being a hero.

He wasn't nearly as stupid.

Bill lowered his face into the carpet once more, fond of the thick smolder of burnt wool flooding his nostrils. The hint of a hum danced along his uvula before he turned, flopping onto his back, and looked to the ceiling. A bit of sunlight had seeped through the top of his drawn curtains, past where they bumped against each other's rings and refused to pull tight. Rays of light shown beyond the gap, casting upways a golden hue which formulated an isosceles triangle.

Bill smirked at the display, lining his eye to trace each corner for an hour's better half, after which he stood, rubbed away lasting soot, and made his journey to get dressed. No use questioning where someone such as Bill found dapper wear in such a town, let alone on such short notice. Just know he had them, and in determining his getup for the day, the only questions relevant to him revolved around blue or black, slim or loose, waistcoat or jacket. And, when the uniform was finally laid out before him, he'd put a fist under his chin, squint his eye, and replace the blue bow tie with something yellow.

Bill made his way down the apartment stairs, feeling an odd sense of enthusiasm. His prey was gone; lost to the millions upon millions of fleshlings that crawled pitifully. But, he was still prey, wasn't he? And Bill, the hunter. The world his forest, and Gravity Falls no more than a _garden_. All would go well. Once the time finally-.

He stumbled once, catching himself awkwardly against the railing. A hand rushed to clutch his lower abdomen, where an unsuspecting shock had pierced through. There, beyond layers of muscle and fat, was the odd punch of emptiness. A twitch of the gut, a low vibration, and Bill grew stiff. He noted a light growl, followed by a sharp tightness as his stomach almost sunk in. The man grew cold, lips falling as his head lowered to examine the sensation. Hitching up his shirt, Bill placed an experimental finger against his belly button.

Dull, numb pain rose from the pressure, but nothing more. Yet, he felt something like boiling inside his stomach, without the heat. Like bumping along his walls, but not breaking. He sucked in a breath, noting how his gut really _did _sink in a little. His frame was a tad smaller, if at all. Bill heard the rumble again, and his eye became wide.

Was something _inside _him?

Ah, fuck.

Well, no use worrying about it now. Bill would have to dig it out when he found time for himself. For now, he had to go to '_work.' _Honestly, he wasn't sure why he still went if pinetree wasn't there. '_Just a waste of time_,' he thought to himself. But, still. The appeal was there when he kicked up his feet and lit a smoke without being nagged on, as well as the lingering looks of admiration from lackies. '_Criminal mind expert,' _they'd call him, and Bill was anything but humbled by how easily the title had taken flight.

By the time his car had pulled up to the GFPD, the weird sensation in his lower abdomen had softened, but not deceased. It was more like a soft moan now, and only clutched along his waist rather than strangling his stomach. Still, the discomfort was irritating. Bill made his way to the elevator, only stopped once by a slim lady with her hair pinned up. Shining green eyes, rosey lips, and curly black hair laying taut across her head. She'd smiled at him, raising a hand as though for his attention.

Her mouth had opened, closed, and opened once more like a gaping fish, as though unsure how to approach the dapper male. Off at the corner of her cubicle, pushed ahead by a trio of three handsome-faced women, all of whom thumbed up her efforts with cooing remarks. Bill didn't so much as spare her a glance, and her stuttering whatever had quickly died away as he stepped into the elevator, pressed for the seventh floor, and disappeared.

He had no intentions of hunting other prey.

Bill's reflection seemed to corner him as he waited, the temptation of fixing himself both appealing and pointless now. He rode a hand over his sleeve, drawing away wrinkles, before remembering that the laboratory held no one worth stunning. But, perhaps it was in his nature to keep himself clean and trusting, for he couldn't resist the urge of straightening his bowtie even a little.

But, the few golden strands still dangling over his vision were left untouched, and what looked to be uneven cuffs weren't so much as straightened. To everyone but himself, Bill Cipher was the height of fashion. Of course, a town full of barefooted, overall-wearing inbreds would think that of anyone who showered regularly. To himself though, he felt his appearance was severely lacking. What _was _the point of dressing up now? It wasn't like he had anyone to flaunt it for- get that cute little response out of- anymore.

Might as well conform to Gravity Falls' flannel fad.

The elevator doors slid apart.

Bill quickly fixed his hair, and straightened those damn cuffs of his when he saw who stood, bending over the modest paperwork he'd gotten done in his partner's absence.

_Pinetree._

Who was there.

In the lab.

After a fucking eternity.

Bill almost tripped over himself, body on autopilot just by _seeing _the kid. Dipper wasn't gone; he hadn't escaped his grasp. He was _right. Fucking. __There. _And, hell if Bill was gonna let him get away again. No way. He'd played with his goddamn food for too fucking long, and now-! _Now, _he was back! Because he _knew _he couldn't outrun Bill. He _knew _Mabel wasn't safe. He _knew _there was no escape.

Or, perhaps he was just that dumb.

Whatever the case, Bill's mood was quick to skyrocket, seeing that pretty little thing crawl back to him on all fours, smirk, and fall asleep in his hands. Oh, the fucking _beauty _of it all! He could picture it now: The final moment. Flight 64, taking off for Korea in T-minus 2 minutes, and Dipper's luggage in hand. He'd take a breath, stand up, and start digging for his passport to get the hell out of this crazy state. But, oh~ What's this? A text from Mabel, perhaps? A picture maybe, with her beaming features and the sappy caption, '_Don't forget about movie night, bro-bro!'_

He'd sniff. Battle tears. Curl in his lips, all the while the plane prepared for takeoff. In the mists of his sudden turmoil, he'd have a change of heart. Take his luggage, pocket his phone, and head back home without sparing his self-preservation a glance. What a _hero. _He'd never leave his sister behind, after all. He wouldn't even leave a fucking _stranger _behind, if it made his moral highground that much more untouchable. A goddamn marter.

A goddamn fool.

Bill steadier himself before he could pounce. The absolute adrenaline coursing through his veins was near drug-endousing, but he couldn't let this persona give way. Pinetree was there, that was for sure. But, at _work? _For what _reason? _Surely, he'd spread the word, right?

Had he?

_Did _he?

No. Impossible. The town would be on lockdown without a second thought; the people there were crazy after all. They wouldn't so much as hesitate before picking up their pitchforks in a fit of mobilism. Perhaps that was the reason for caution. Dipper couldn't risk running Bill out of town before containing him. Or, maybe he didn't have enough evidence. Fuck, he probably didn't have _any _evidence. But, what did a '_savior' _of Gravity Falls need evidence for?

Bill cleared his throat.

"Well, well, well. Look what the cop dragged in!" He sang coolly, a steady smirk enveloping his features from the way Dipper's eyes shot up. He was quick as a deer in headlights, expression blown wide at the startle of Bill's sudden presence. Most-likely wired from being so on edge around his partner now.

If so, why did pinetree's features almost look… fond? Bill dismissed the thought, making his way towards him in an effort of intimidation. Dipper shrunk a little, but not out of fear. Something a bit familiar, but alien in the moment.

"Hey…" His partner replied simply, taking a step from the thin file of work done in his absence. "You, uh-... You did paper work. I'm surprised."

Which was _not _what Bill expected his first words to be. Something more along the lines of '_I know what you're up to, Cipher.' _or '_We're gonna bring you down, just you wait!' _This was a bit coy for his liking, but he'd been coy from the get-go. Might as well play the part.

Bill blinked rapidly, before darting his gaze with a snort. He was in front of him soon enough, swiping the filing from his desk.

"Well, _someone's _gotta do it." His arm went up, batting the papers against Dipper's head softly. He didn't miss the way those curls coiled, tightened, and bounced up from the quick impact, nor the slightly dirty look across his partner's face. His smile strengthened. "After all, you disappeared like a _ghost_." Bill couldn't help the threatening edge of his tone, casting it for soft ears to catch. And, catch they did.

Dipper's face seemed to dip- just an inch- like the ears of a fawn folding against his head. He looked just shy enough to seem almost remorseful, if someone like him was even _capable _of such a thing around Bill. Which, he wasn't. Or, more so, he hadn't been for the past month and a half. Not that Dipper's partner knew, though.

He shuffled on his feet, hands rubbing at his neck with an odd quirk of the lips.

"Oh-. Uh, yeah. Sorry about that. That was sort of-. Yeah, sorry." Pinetree offered, coming off as a bit smaller than before. His cheeks grew rosey.

'_Grade-A actor, apparently.' _

That's when it hit him.

O-o-o-oh! So his pinetree was going to play _dumb? _Make him put his guard down? How _cute! _That, whenever Bill thought to share even the _tiniest _of details with him- considered playing his little games- Dipper was already well-prepped enough to follow along with a notepad in hand. So, '_hide-n-seek' _was now '_minesweeper?'_ First to step on a bomb had everything blowing up in their face? What a quaint wager.

The scale was always tilted in his favor.

So, with pleasant features and an even more relaxed shell, he laughed.

"Well, you _should be! _What's a guy like me supposed to do up here, all by my lonesome?" Bill remarked, throwing the files aside. They made a fluttering cut through mid-air, before sliding atop one of the black tables in a slew of paper. The slight disregard gave Dipper's features a hardened expression.

"Your job, I'm guessing." The man sighed before leaning up on his desk. Dipper's mannerisms weren't much different from the usual day-to-day motions, but there was definitely something new in them. A bit more flowy. Not as chopped up or restrained; stiff. He didn't so much as hesitate before dusting away a bit of eraser, seating himself on the mahogany desk, and crossing one leg over the other. "Not that you'd ever stoop so low, right?" Dipper cocked his head to the side.

Bill short-circuited.

Oh, he was _definitely _playing at something here.

Those motions- that _body- _were baiting him, no doubt. He wanted Bill loosening up so he'd finally trip. What else could those signals mean? Dipper had never done them before. Hell if he ever _would. _He was a stubborn fool after all. No way was he showcasing anything so openly… _Uranian_ without an angle to it. Because, this was Dipper Pines: _Desperately lost in the closet._

He'd never look so appetizing on purpose.

"Look who's talking, Casper." Bill laughed. "In case you've forgotten, I've been holding down the fort while you were off partying it up with The Congos."

"A vacation well-_earned, _Bill." Dipper shot back, leaning ahead with something like a challenge across his face. There was a smirk along those lips of his; flirtatious. Maybe even _happy _to see Bill. But, that was impossible. Again, impossible. He would never.

"I'll be the judge of _that_." He paused, giving pinetree a once-over before continuing. He just _had _to know how invested Dipper was in this role. "Last I checked, that cipher-guy's still out and about clicking his heels, balling it up at gentlemen's clubs, scott-free." Bill was almost impressed at how easily his partner took the statement. He'd probably prepared for the taunt.

"Oh, so now it's _my _fault work hasn't been getting done around here?"

"It sure as hell isn't _mine, _Sapling!" Dipper almost choked on a scoff, rolling his head back like the statement was unfathomable.

"Jesus, I need a _real _vacation after this…" He chuckled weakly, the bareness of emotional strain and outright fatigue lost on Bill, who simply thought him (slightly) more clever than before. Dipper really knew how to play an ignorant role when he felt like it.

"Can I come?"

"A real vacation away from _you." _

"Well, that's easy! Just turn off your phone again." Even Bill's playful tone couldn't mask his underlying annoyance. He'd _ditched _him. He'd really _ditched _him. Like a half-assed coward, no less. That wasn't easily forgiven. And, strangely enough, his partner looked as though he agreed.

"...I should've texted you."

"Damn _straight! _Imagine; just leaving a polished man on read like that. How _nasty _of you, pinetree." Bill sniffed. Dipper snorted at the display, only for his face to fall again.

"Yeah, I-. I know. That was cruddy. I'm sorry."

"...Okay, stop apologising. It's making me feel gross." Bill made a disgusted expression, nose wrinkled and tongue extended, eyeing Dipper with even more hesitation. Well, he could sure play the _dumb _part, but staying in character was a whole other subject! Dipper? Saying _sorry? _This _much? _Jesus, either Bill had missed the ultimate character arc of the century, or Dipper was playing this whole '_naive' _card past its worth.

"I know. I know, Jesus. I'm just-. Trying to be a little more honest lately..."

"Oh, _God. _Don't tell me you're _proposing! _I don't think I could stomach it." This time, pinetree didn't resist the comment. He laughed out loud, head nodding back at the outright absurdity. Dipper would _never. _

"Of _course. _Fucking of _course._" Dipper laughed, shaking his head. It seemed to be an inside joke of his, to say '_only Bill would ever,_' and the motion was surprisingly endearing. He slid from the desk, and Bill was shot with underlying disappointment. His pinetree looked rather appealing up there. "'Cause I'm just _dying _to put a ring on it, right?" Dipper moved behind the desk, lowering himself in his seat, but not settling. Instead, he bent over, seeming to fish for something.

"You always _did _come off to me as the marrying type. But, _oh! _Woopsie. I forget you're betrothed to _red, _right?" Bill leaned in, happy to watch Dipper's playful glow drain away into a kind of caution. '_Red.' _There was no doubt he was connecting the nickname with what Cipher used to call his precious little girlfriend. He must have been trying to fight off any signs of recognition.

Still, the look of pain along his features were bare and overt. He cleared his throat once, blinked quickly, and ducked down to hide his scarlett features.

"Well, we-... Actually, um…" Dipper's eyes darted away, lip curling in with a contemplative naw of the teeth. After a second to himself, he made a look of surprise, as though finding buried treasure. "Oh, _look_!" The smaller shot up, lifting with him a plastic container. Bill gave him a raised brow.

"Whatcha got, Slick?"

"It's a- _don't call me that. _It's a thing of cupcakes… Mabel made them, actually."

And, just before him, Bill picked out blatant hurt and remorse. Perhaps he'd said too much? Maybe he'd put his sister in danger by saying it? Oh, god. This kid needed to stop being so _paranoid_. He snorted at the pastries.

"Aw~ What a sweetie. Hey! You remember what happened _last time _your sis baked goodies! Any chance of a _repeat_?"

Whether Dipper looked at him with distaste or longing was lost in the instance he set the container down, popped open the top, and showcased Mabel's arts and crafts. Which were so pathetically spotted in glitter and random swirls of icing, not even a homeless man would've been enticed. Yet, Dipper looked at them appreciatively, if not with apprehension. He took a step back.

"She… hasn't been feeling great the last couple of days. But, uh-. She made them herself, and wanted me to bring them for lunch."

"You sure they're safe to eat?" Bill quipped, making Dipper glower.

"_Yes._" He gave them an unsure look. "..._Probably._ Whatever, man. I'm eating 'em."

Now, _that _made Bill laugh.

"I'll get your hazmat suit ready." He turned as though to exit, only to stop at Dipper's scoff.

"Sure. You do that." The smaller went, picking up the pastry with pausing fingers.

He turned the unicorn wrapping in his hands once, admiring the ironically placed rainbows and hearts, before peeling it away to display a muddy pink undertone. Not the most appetizing dessert, that was for sure. Probably gritty with bits of glitter; maybe some poorly-placed rhinestones. But, Dipper was _pretty sure _it was due to Mabel's lack of cooking experience, and not an effort to poison him and his… whatever Bill was to him.

The moment between his first bite and the groan he let out at its sandy texture was lost on Bill. When the sweet, sweet smell hit his nostrils, and its soft texture sunk in against white teeth, Bill- for whatever reason- felt his mouth salivate. Just a little. The pain he'd felt that morning suddenly came back, and the bubbling sensation almost made him groan. He tried to fight the burn away, but when his stomach finally let out that odd rumble again, Dipper's ears perked up and he smiled.

"Hungry?" He teased beyond the under-done batter, lips buried in the crevice his teeth had made. Bill liked that look. The way his eyes rolled towards him, nose almost dipping into the froth, lips taking it all in. It reminded him of-.

The tight squeeze came back, and Bill found he couldn't even indulge in his own lude fantasy. Instead of admitting defeat, he crossed his arms, rolled an eye, and gave a smirk with enough bravado to fuel the Seawise Giant.

"How's it taste, hun?" He asked, leaning against the desk. Dipper smirked into the pastry, humming before taking another bite. The scene was just enough to give Bill _another _reason the last two weeks had been hell without his puppet around. But, he pushed it away.

"_Glittery._" Dipper huffed aloud before pulling back, flicking off a bit of rouge frosting from his nose. Bill watched at pinetree's lips bulged against the proding of his own tongue, sliding over canines to dislodge sprinkles of shiny dust and- yes- tiny rhinestones. Which should've sounded disgusting. Instead, the display had his stomach almost _turning. _

"One out of ten?" Bill asked. Dipper drew away from the dessert, giving the thing a testing look.

"Hmm… Four? I guess? It's really… _gross, _actually. But at least it's sweet." Bill's stomach growled, and this time he wasn't sure he could pull off a cocky pose. It didn't disturb his partner in the slightest, who in turn suppressed a smirk.

"Do you... _Want _some?" Dipper drew the words long, holding a second one out for the other. His eyes were playful, if not condescending, and Bill couldn't find any reason to indulge his teasing offer. Again, his body didn't _need _food. At _all. _Still, the sweet aroma was unexpectedly tempting, and even the sparkles weren't able to deter his interest. Perhaps some kind of _craving? _A weird side-effect to the slow regeneration of his powers? Like being pregnant; maybe this form experienced a similar need for energy to sustain his growing abilities?

He'd never heard of it before.

Nonetheless, the offer was tempting, the food sweet, and the one offering it up even sweeter. Plus, no need to look _suspicious _of him. Not that Dipper would ever try _poisoning _him. If he did, he'd be greatly disappointed to find that Bill's body was unaffected by not only poison, but toxins, illnesses, and a complete lack of resources needed by every fucking human on the planet. So, no fear. No regrets.

Bill smirked, taking the pastry up.

"Thought you'd never ask." He cooed, giving his partner a sharp '_wink.' _Dipper hummed a little, looking down at his ¾ of a cupcake left. When he looked back up, the one in Bill's hand was already gone, the only signs of it lightly dotted at the corner of his mouth. Dipper couldn't help but gasp.

"_Whoa." _He said simply, leaning back in his chair. Bill, though not showing it, was almost as surprised himself. His body… _really _wanted that, and as suspected, the weird emptiness in his gut began to subside. The indent of his stomach mellowed a little, as though buffing out a scratch on someone's red paint job. "What are you, a vacuum cleaner?" Dipper meant to joke, but the whimsical glint in his eye kept it from landing. Bill's speed was… _impressive._

Well, he could always do with another ring to his ego.

"What's that? Do I hear _admiration?_"

"More like concern. Did you even _taste _it?"

"Hey; food is food, buddy. Don't go putting things in boxes. You'll ruin the appeal." Bill shrugged out, moving around the desk so he could stand by Dipper's seat. Without warning, he pulled at the man's swivel chair, swung it outwards, and sat happily on the smaller's lap. Dipper weazed when the wind was effectively knocked out of him.

"Oh, fuck-. _B-ill!_" Dipper slapped at Bill's back, but was promptly ignored.

"But, now that I think about it…" He began, leaning ahead and plucking another cake from its case. Screw it all; his body craved it. Bill dripped a hand into the icing, eye cringing when the taste met his taste buds for a second time. He wasn't so proud that he'd deny scarfing the dessert without so much as savoring it. Bill was a fan of instant gratification, after all. But, maybe Dipper had a point about the quality of materials. "Maybe too much glitter."

"_Bill, get o-ff!_"

"Well, I _tried _to, but you wouldn't even answer your phone."

"_Oh my g-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-d!_"

"Now, don't be _rude_. I'm not that heavy, am I?" Bill looked at the cake one last time, far less tempted than for the first one, before tossing it over his shoulder onto the floor. He chuckled. "Should I lay off the pastries?" Bill sent the question behind him, where Dipper fought fruitlessly to get out from under his weight. He got up after another moment of struggling, satisfied with the redness of his pinetree's face.

"_Ugh._" Dipper sucked in a breath, shooting Bill a deadly glare. "You _ass._" He pulled at his shirt, fighting away tight creases and wrinkles.

"Takes one to know one, darling."

"You fucking-." Dipper's eyes sharpened in his direction, only to move away with a kind of pout. He tilted his head, angling his features away from the smirking man, and Bill was absolutely _preening _from that expression. His annoyance was down-right _flattering_! He still had it. "_I can't believe I missed your dumbass…_"

Words spoken low, out of the corner of his mouth.

Like they weren't meant to be heard.

But, they _had _to have been. Otherwise, what was the point of saying them at all?

This was just another move, Bill knew. Dipper just wanted to sedate him. Reel him in, like he was _actually _still under his spell. But, Cipher wasn't dumb, unbeknownst to his partner. No. Bill was quick-witted. _Cunning. _He could see right through that cute little tsundere ploy and defuse it when the time came. And, what better time than the present?

He was _done _playing with his food.

Time to make a move.

Any other day, Bill would've taken that poorly whispered comment and run with it for _days. _But, it was so obviously bait on his end, the fun would've been at least half-faked. There was no savoring that kind of play-time. So, Bill did the next best thing:_ he took it. _What's a guy like him gotta lose by indulging a horny catch on its deathbed? Nada.

His shoulders cringed up, chest lowering so his chin nestled sweetly against Dipper's shoulder, to which the other flinched away. That didn't deter him. Never hesitate in front of the enemy. _Never._

"Yeah?" Cipher purred, once again closing in the gap between them. Bill found himself smiling a bit more meliciously than before, but he hoped Dipper would take it as something territorial, and not predatorial. He did; face lighting up, breath hitching from that simple airy remark. His skin was already heated from so _long _without touch. Too long. Far, far too long. "_I missed you too, pinetree._"

He felt the younger shiver, clam up, and slowly dissolve into the contact. Bill could sense Dipper's conflicting push and pull of both leaning in and driving away from the chin rested peacefully on his shoulder. Bill tested a kiss on the cheek, only for the other to scoot away once more.

"Bill… I told you no office stuff." Dipper gave him a trying expression, like those words killed him to say. Still, his partner was avid about moving things along. He chased the cheek, laying upon it one slow, sweet draw from his lips, snickering against the skin when his pinetree started to heat up.

"_Heeey…_" Bill remarked slyly, cupping Dipper's other cheek to pull him in. He broke off once to place a kiss at his jawline, speaking into the bone. "Who says I'm trying anything? Just wanted to say '_welcome home.'_" Dipper laughed at that, turning his cheek from him in an instance to look at Cipher.

"What? Did you miss me?" Dipper asked.

Bill almost lost his shit.

He forced his fingers _not _to tear into the other's cheek, and instead nipped his jaw a bit harder than necessary, causing Dipper to yelp.

Pinetree had used _his line. _That was supposed to be _his thing, _and the kid was just dangling it now, because Bill had never thought to say it again.

'_Did you miss me?'_

'_Admit it; you missed me.'_

Oh, he was gonna enjoy his revenge, if he wasn't already going to before.

"Don't act so proud." Bill forced out a laugh, though the dripping hues of resentment were daunting. Dipper didn't seem to hear it as he leaned in to the larger's touch just a little more. Cipher was at his neck for a moment, riding up, and up, and up, lacing porcelain skin with purple and red marks from the mouth. Pinetree let out a groan, smiling when his hand snaked into Bill's hair and gave a soft tug.

"You're one to talk." Dipper remarked cooly, head rolling back as the kisses spread over his Adam's apple and under his chin. He snickered, feeling the slight tickle of eyelashes dust his cheek, all the while ignorant to Bill's growing irritation.

Pinetree was a _much _better actor than previously suspected. He seemed so pleased to be in Bill's present, it was as though his own identity was still locked up tight. But, he knew better than to entertain the idea. His partner thought he could bide his time as everyone figured out their plan; how to defeat him once and for all. Bill shouldn't have let things go this long. He should've gotten rid of pinetree long before things go-... Well…

Intimate.

He groaned, feeling Dipper tug at his hair again, forcing Bill's lips from his neck. Pinetree stared at his partner for only a moment, plastered prettily with this unsure, waggish expression, before pulling Cipher in like he couldn't stand the distance. Their lips met, pressing flush against each other, forcing a beautiful heat into either of them; one volunterially, the other fighting tooth and nail not to feel it. But, he did. And, he hated the familiar rise of pleasure each second invoked.

The kiss wasn't fast. Instead, it was slow. Savoring. God, did Bill hate that word more than ever now. But, he had to admit, the tempo was appealing in its own special way. Dipper cupped either of his cheeks almost _lovingly, _if not a bit compact on his grip. He'd pull in, turn his head, peck, and pull away. Turn his head, pull in, peck again. Much, much slower, and with a kind of passion that was beyond soft.

Bill wasn't sure how to feel. The changing pace sure didn't send him running for the hills, but it was… weird. Emotional, even. He could almost feel this looming cloud of affection drop over them, and the way Dipper kissed, and how his breathing slowed. When pinetree slid his eyes closed, and his lashes brushed over either cheek, bumping their foreheads together before leaning in for another peck. It was…

New. Not bad. But, not helping things.

Still, Bill hadn't gotten a taste for so long. He'd take the other's _last time _in strides if need-be.

Bill returned the kisses as _'soft' _and '_lovingly' _as he could, but that wasn't so easy. His teeth brushed along the plush layering of Dipper's bottom lip, tugging it along every so often just to hear the other's strangled whines. Bill found, when the tempo slowed and they had more time to examine each other, Dipper had his little kinks about him; the stuff he really loved done to him. Tongue flicks across bite marks. Nibbles along the jaw. A hand in his hair.

Savor.

Bill had to savor this.

"_God, I missed-_." Dipper began, before pulling himself back into the kiss. He had a hand against Bill's neck now, thumb rubbing pleased circles on the skin. And, in his instance of breaking away, coming back in, and pulling off once more, he found his lips trailing elsewhere. Over the chin. Along the jaw. Up to his cheek. Against the earlobe, before sliding down to his neck to plant new, rouge kisses. "_-this._" Dipper finished. The wording felt awkward though. It wasn't exactly what he meant to say, but it was close.

Bill was unable to stifle his groan, feeling the smaller add suction along his throat. Well, he was certainly aware of Dipper's… abilities. But, having it focused somewhere that _wasn't _between his legs had its perks. The sensation was light, but strong. Dipper seemed to like leaving bite marks around the edges, purple rings on the throat, and soft pink crescents where his nails dug in. And, Bill had to admit: he was a fan of the enthusiasm. An arm came around Dipper's waste, pulling their hips flush against each other, and the hickey-making became ten times better. Up his neck. Down his trachea. Brushing kiss upon kiss over his clavicle.

It gave him a bit of time to think.

Okay. _One last time. _Then, business as usual. He couldn't have his pinetree running from him again; not when he'd just gotten back. They'd go at it- a final round- and Bill would wait for night to fall. Dipper was surely comfortable enough to stay the night. He'd done it before. And, as far as he knew, Bill was none the wiser. He didn't have any reason to think Bill would end it all _tonight; _he'd spent so much time playing around, after all. Things didn't seem any different.

But, they were. Bill was ready to deliver the final blow.

He let out another groan, grinding into the space connecting their hips. Dipper ground back.

"_So…_" Bill began with a cheeky grin. His partner was still buried in his neck. "I'll see you tonight, then?"

Suddenly, Dipper froze.

_Shit._

There was a moment's hesitation, teeth still sunken into tan flesh, before he found himself pulling up and away from Bill. There was a glint of internalized reproachment behind those brown eyes.

"Now… Might not be the best time…" Dipper responded awkwardly, hand going to rub at his neck. Bill steadied his expression.

"Oh? Why's that, kid?"

_Because he knows what Bill's up to._

_He's not falling for it._

_That sneaky little minx._

"It's just-. Things are kind of weird right now… Listen, I don't feel like getting into details, but my friend group's kind of in shambles at the moment and-."

"What does that have to do with us?"

_Of course he'd tell his friends about this._

_Pinetree's too goddamn honest._

_He'd come clean eventually, and tell everyone who Bill really was._

_It was all just a matter of time._

"_Nothing! _Well- actually, a lot." Dipper's face lowered contemplatively, before snapping back up with a challenged expression. "That's not the point. The point is-. We just can't._ Right now_. Okay? It's-. I don't think it's a good idea with everything that's going on with everyone."

_Everyone?_

_Had he told __everyone?_

_Aw, fuck._

"Mabel's in a really fragile emotional state right now, and I don't even wanna _think _about Wendy, alright? It's just-. Bad idea. No. You and I-." He paused, gesturing between them before putting his hands up in resistance. "_No._"

Bill.

Was.

_Furious._

Not that he'd ever show it.

He smiled back peacefully, capturing Dipper's slender waist in his arms once more with a grip far too gentle. If anything, he wanted to squeeze the floating spirit out of him. But, this was all part of the game. The easy entrance wasn't an option; he should've known that from the get go. Well, fair enough. He could always try for the back door. Or underneath. From the roof. Damn it all, he'd blow the house to bits if he had to. Who said the front door was his all-or-nothing?

Bill laid another sweet kiss on Dipper's lips, and the smaller looked almost drunk off the simple affection. His eyelids slipped down, giving a sleepy look when he held himself up, cheeks burning, lips curling in and watching Bill's sharp smile like something new.

Because- oh, hell- he _liked _Bill's smile.

He liked _him. _

And, it was so much easier to understand now, why he put up with the other's bullshit 24/7. Bill was eccentric. And, intelligent. _Interesting_. He had his own way of doing things, and was a stranger to social norms, and Dipper _admired _it. All along. If Bill hadn't been such a narcissistic asshole from birth, maybe the knowledge would've come to Dipper easier. But, he was, and so every quality about him became a fight for disgust. He wouldn't let that jerk be _intelligent_. He wouldn't let him be _interesting_.

That would mean he'd won.

But, now. Standing in his arms, feeling that warm spread of heat between their lips, Dipper could at least admit to this one thing: he liked those lips. And that hair. And his suit. And-. Maybe not the _smoking_, but the memories it entitled. He liked _Bill. _A little? A lot? Didn't matter. He'd find out eventually. Bill might only be a stepping stone to figuring himself out; that final push that sent him flailing from the closet to open sunshine and daisies. Someone to thank in the instance, but let go of once he found his footing. They could go their separate ways, see different things, hold other people, and remember one another with an unorthodox fondness only they understood.

Or…

They could grow together.

"_Alright._" Bill spoke finally, breathing between plush lips. "_Call me when things are puppies and rainbows again._" And, Dipper smiled at him. He rested his forehead against Bill's, looking into his partner's one eye. Dipper had always been about detail. Always about seeing things closely; deciphering them. Noticing the little spots and flecks from a mile away, and never forgetting. His mother used to take pride in her son's photographic memory. But, perhaps the hype was overblown. For, looking into his partner's gaze as though for the first time, Dipper felt an inkling to point out one small detail.

"_Your eyes are blue._" He remarked dumbly, still stuck somewhere in the clouds. The sentence felt so innocent, it was hardly something worth lingering on, let alone distracting them from their kisses any longer. Dipper leaned in for another peck-.

Bill pulled away in shock.

"_What_-?" Bill's voice was like thick, scorching venom, arms shooting out to grip the boy by either shoulder. Dipper hissed out at the pressure. "_-did you say?_" A grave expression folded along the creases of Bill's brow, and his pinetree soon found himself snapping out of it. Whatever fear existed in his expression was outweighed by his blatantly confused expression. Had he said something offensive? Uh, _no. _Actually, the comment was almost a compliment if anything. And, either way, Bill shouldn't have looked so hurt by it. Still, there they were.

"Uh… Your _eye? _It's blue, Bill."

"My eye's black." He shot back, almost frantically. Dipper's brows furrowed.

"No one's eye color is black. That's not possible. Maybe, like, _dark-dark _brown, I guess." He paused, squinting his own eyes to view Bill's. "No. Your eye's blue. Really muddy, but-."

"_Where's the bathroom_?" His partner cut in, making Dipper jump. He was scowling at Bill now, making subtle movements to shrug out of Bill's uncomfortable grip. His head tossed back, looking to the elevator with an annoyed look.

"There's… one on the 4th floor." Dipper responded cautiously, looking his partner up and down. Bill didn't spare another second, stepping aside as he made his way to the doors. "Whoa, hey! What's gotten into you, Angle?"

Bill didn't reply, only pressed the button, stepped inside, and nearly freaked once the doors were safely closed behind him.

_This isn't happening._

He made quick work of exiting the metal box, legs switching with purpose as Bill's head swang side-to-side before finding the men's bathroom.

_It's not possible._

And, it shouldn't have been.

But, it was.

Before him, over the sink, staring daggers into a smudged mirror, was Bill's own reflection. Blond hair ruffled. Shirt collar a mess. Dotted red lines of formulating hickeys, riding up and up and up, as though someone had tried taking a bite out of him. And there, encircling the jet black orb of his pitched iris, was a slight lift of color. Just _barely. _Something so small and minute, no one would have noticed without having excellent observational skills.

Which Dipper had.

Beyond the black, was a tiny film wrapped along the ball, bits of sky blue spiking into darkness. Like acid eating away at iron, dissolving into the solution at ready. Not a complete take over of color, but slow. Crumbling with a new purpose.

Wasn't it _odd _how Bill fell asleep last night? On _accident? _Couldn't his body function without regular charging?

And how his powers had been on the fritz lately? Fire certainly didn't come to him as easily, now that the summer was drawing to a close. But, shouldn't his powers have been getting _stronger _as the time closed in for them to return? That's what he'd _thought. _

The cravings, too. Those were _very _odd. Not even once had he felt the need to eat before. The strange emptiness of his stomach. The growling. The rolling. The squeeze.

And… here. In front of the mirror, watching flecks of blue replace black. His body didn't need _food. _His body didn't need _sleep. _His body sure as hell didn't need a goddamn _makeover! _Still, here he was, watching the transformation's slow effects. A seeping away of power, like a flat tire. How the skin circling his bones felt more like a cage than a suit he could slip on and off. How his ragged breaths seemed more mandatory than for show.

How his eye, though unneeded, began to redefine itself and mold into color. Like the body Bill was uneventful _stuck _in looked to form… _DNA. _Which was _impossible. _Bill Cipher didn't _have _DNA. He didn't _need _DNA! The ritual was supposed to make him a _God. _Gods didn't have-.

There was always the off-chance of something going wrong…

Rituals were complex. Shitty little get-togethers meant for amateurs. And, teenagers certainly didn't help the equation.

A single misstep.

Breaking hands.

Disrupting the chant.

Stopping for even an _instance _made for catastrophic consequences.

But, Bill couldn't have known that at the time of his resurrection. He'd been borderline unconscious when brought into his new form, not to mention busying himself with a multitude of human snacks. There wasn't any way of him having the foresight to understand that something _had _gone wrong. Things _had _been disrupted. And, the consequences were jarringly obvious now.

He needed to sleep.

He needed to _eat. _

And, his goddamn body that was supposed to be goddamn temporary kept getting tighter and tighter.

That eye looked back at him, black but slowly turning blue.

From DNA.

Like he was turning…

_Human. _


	35. Stuck in Limbo

What little hope existed that time would 'heal all wounds' had been formulated by a naive, baseless assumption brought forth in an attempt to calm my nerves. If anything, leaving things unattended to only worked to spoil what little opening I had, If I'd had an opening at all. Maybe somewhere between ' give her space' and the first three days of cold, unbroken silence. But, how could I have known?

Mabel was avoiding me like the plague.

Sure, she still did her little deeds of kindness around the apartment; washed the dishes on her nights, woke me before falling asleep -back twisted- on the couch, and willed an unorthodox array of (un)edible treats from the oven, despite the gloomy fixation of her lips. It was no mystery to anyone that something deep and hurting had planted itself within her. Things were very much broken between us. In that span of silence.

Something had changed.

We sat opposite of each other, separated by the rectangular stretch of a cheap wooden table, picking quietly at Moo Goo Gai Pan and Shrimp Egg Foo Young, all the while seeping into splinted chopsticks. It was times like these I forgot how it felt to flop back on the couch, arms thrown over the edge as Mabel and I sucked down innumerable jiaozis. We almost never sat like this; away from each other. And, if we ever did, there was at least a word of bickering to be had in the moment of division.

Here, there was none. Just the quiet moosh of seasoned broccoli and squishing mushrooms. I'd peek up from my dish every so-often, watching as my sister's fingers twitched, strained, before inevitably fumbling with her chopsticks. Perhaps it was too much to ask for things to be normal enough to tease her for it. She wouldn't have taken it hard back then. Before… everything. Mabel would have laughed, called me a nerd for using them, before placing either stick under her lips and trying to eat like a walrus.

I looked away as her gaze shuffled up, just in time to note whatever I was about to put in my mouth. In all honesty, it didn't rightfully matter. The flavor was numb. Repetitive. The salt hit, dissolved and died against my tongue like something of a phantom.

My eyes rolled up again to view Mabel's shoulders bunched and close. Her lips smoothed inwards, fingers once again flicking, fumbling, and dropping the chopsticks. She'd give them an awkward expression, then one a bit sharper. Straightened herself, hardened and picked the disruption up once again. An uncommon shine of cold, hard determination worried the lines of her face when she stared at the wooden sticks, clutched them firmly, and shoved them down a box of stir fry.

My leg began to bounce, an old habit reserved for when my mind really got racing. When I didn't have a pen in hand. When I couldn't click click click my thoughts into a set line of order, or bury my molars in thick plastics and a spring of metal. I had to do something. Tap my fingers. Pinch my nose. Bounce my knee. All racing, racing, racing the thoughts in my mind. And, if there wasn't a thing to be done on the physical plane- the real - I'd only seep into it.

No. Feel the knee. The bounce. The touch of hardwood flooring under bare skin. This was all temporary. Every moment. Every scene. Every action that was 'now,' slowly dissolves to 'then,' until crippling away into 'nowhere.' Things would go back to normal one day; they always did. That moment that changed everything- that 'now'- was only so great to the little people who'd once been, but had since evolved from it. What 'was' was a vaccine for the future decades of illness to follow; to make us stronger. More resilient. What would've become of us if we'd never gotten into a fight before this day? Never bickered or argued?

Well, I probably wouldn't have had an apartment to go home to.

But, this was far more resilient. We were resilient. Wendy had informed her only a day after the break up, and the scandal, and having no idea what she was supposed to do with herself, or who she could trust, or if Mabel had been in on the whole thing, to which she was avid about denying, if not a bit hesitant. And I, in this capricious atmosphere of confusion, was just short of forgiven. Almost. When she finally called Pacifica. Told her I could come home. Perhaps all she'd wanted was the truth; for me to come clean.

That was so simple, though. Not at all our current situation. Forgiveness was the farthest thing from us. From this. Not that I deserved it. Not that I'd ever deserve coming to terms with these little things, or the eventual self-satisfaction in overcoming exposure. The discomfort was blatant. The stiffness, unbreakable. Like being submerged in concrete, struggling only barely as the substance set and froze. And Mabel had been caught in the mess. My mess. Something I'd hoped to get her support from, instead worked to undo our relationship.

Which she shouldn't have had to go through.

My head tilted up again, just in time to meet a pair of brown eyes already looking back. I shot my gaze away, back straightening at the contrastingly awkward weight of her sight, matched with all preconceptions of Mabel's persona. Even arguing, she never would have been so quiet. Not even a snippy remark, or the reminiscing of some past fallacy, all to rial my senses into a state of hot-headedness. Instead, she was slow; calculated. Still fighting tooth and nail against her wooden chopsticks in hand, stabbing full-force into a bit of fried shrimp, only for the shell to crunch, slip and slide from under the point of impact.

Without order, my fingers began tapping against the table. In time with my knee, but far less powerful, as though a sobered form of coping to aid my body's mounting speed. It became increasingly difficult to guide my chopsticks under a wilted spot of broccoli until finally, I stuttered, tightened and thoughtlessly released the utensil from my grip. From it, a slightly high noise drew forth through contact with my platter, and the seal of complete silence was broken. A small ring of sound. A drop of chatter.

Mabel's eyes drew up, and this time I made myself look back. I could feel myself swallow, body shifting against her uncharacteristically hesitant expression. A complete lack of confidence where she sat, flicking aimlessly at soaked bean sprouts, before finally clearing her throat, licking her lips, and looking away.

"Mom called today." Mabel remarked in dry, breathless vowels. I almost startled from hearing her. I forced myself not to jump into this minute opening head-first. Being normal took time. Patience. My eyes darted down.

"O-oh. Yeah? What did she say?" My tone was scratchy; weak. She took another breath before speaking.

"Our birthday's coming up soon." She replied simply, chin propped in hand with a look of almost dread. "She wants us to spend the weekend back home to celebrate."

"That's not for another two weeks."

Mabel shrugged.

"Probably knew we'd want to celebrate the real deal here."

"Yeah… probably."

"...Probably." She repeated. I felt my throat twitch at her low energy, working fruitlessly to salivate the sensation of being bone dry. My finger tapping grew rapid, feeling that space turn cold and try to close again.

"Why does she want us to visit?" I asked, if only to keep conversation flowing. Mabel glanced fleetingly at me.

"We haven't seen her in, like, a hundred years." Which wasn't true. ' We' was an overstatement. She had gone to visit every holiday weekend. She had gone to every family reunion. She had hugged, kissed and hand shaken every cousin, aunt and step-grandma on Piedmont's strip of concrete. Every year.

I…

Was busy.

Too busy.

Every time. Whenever there was a hanukkah party planned out- Sorry, can't. Zombie trafficking. Whenever the weather was just perfect for a summer getaway- Poor timing; still haven't finished filing my taxes. If there was even a chance we could make it to passover this year- I'd love to, but if you haven't noticed, I'm experiencing symptoms of a possible werewolf transformation. Next year, for sure. I promise.

What were the odds I was always occupied?

Couldn't visit family.

Couldn't see my old home.

Couldn't chance bumping into _**that guy**_.

Because, hell if I was about to entertain crossing paths with John.

So, maybe the scenarios were a little fabricated. Maybe I lied every once in a while to get out of seeing family. Maybe I only came by when the possibility of seeing my no-good half-assed son-of-a-bitch step father was completely, without a doubt zero. And, yes. Maybe I missed seeing my mother every holiday, and maybe it was boring in the apartment all alone when Mabel wasn't around, and maybe I'd lost out on a lot of happy memories trying to avoid him.

I'm not sure If I'm still trying to make a point.

"Is she doing okay?" The question seemed appropriate, considering the time spent away from home. Still, Mabel's features soured into something nasty in an instance. She sniffed, shooting me a dark look. Something completely unrelated to our current situation; something she'd resented of me for the longest time.

"Why not come and find out?" Mabel challenged, leaning forward ever so slightly. I leaned away, even with the stretch of distance between us.

"I can't. There's still the-. You know. Case. I can't leave it until it's solved." And, like that, my sister's face morphed. Gaze, sharp. Teeth, bare. Knuckles, white. Her mouth drew wide, taking in a hefty bit of air. Mabel looked as though she would stand, bound towards me, and absolutely howl whatever it was she needed to say.

A twitch of the lips was all I got. She forced her own mouth shut with a clack, slumping back in her seat with arms folded over her chest, a heavy pout splattering her features. A low growl could be heard as her finger went out to tease aggressively at chopsticks. Mabel's body angled from me.

" Never had a problem doing it before. " She grumbled with a creased brow. That seemed to be the end of it. The space closed. That little connection between us: Gone. Poof. Vanished. But, I hadn't gotten nearly enough of it. The taste was there but fleeting, and I found my own subconscious battling for superiority. Food or water? Hot or cold? Yes or no? Take your pick. One or the other, but never both.

I felt my stomach clench, watching as Mabel readied the wooden panels between her fingers, working once again to pick at crunchy shrimp. My voice caught in my throat for only an instance, before forcing its way out in a gust of exasperation. I sighed, rolling a hand over the back of my neck before finally giving way.

" Fine ." I spoke gravely. Mabel's gloomy expression flickered, attention driven from the sea creature teetering on her utensil, to me. I swallowed, ducking my head before continuing. "I'll go."

Her face lit up just barely, the tingle of a smile rushing between her clamped lips. A kind of warmth spread through my chest, loving the slight shift in atmosphere, the way her shrimp fell off, and the strangled squeal of her throat, shoved down but there .

"- Really? " Mabel choked before remembering herself. Within an instance, all facial expressions had calmed, and she gave me an uncertain look.

So, okay. Maybe I was just working up the brownie points. Maybe this was just a way out of the eternal silence between us, if not the awkward cold. And, maybe it still wasn't enough to hoist us out of this strange stuper we'd found ourselves in.

But, hell if it didn't make her happy.

I willed a slight shrug, pushing my platter away, lest the adrenaline catch up to my fouling appetite.

John would be there.

Which was…

Oh, god.

"S-sure. I mean, why not? I can always… postpone… whatever."

Mabel's smile was far brighter this time, and lasted just a second longer before inevitably wiping itself clean.

[]

I stood from my bent position over the facility's porcelain toilet, having doggedly heaved up every last bit of leftover takeout. My gut tightened once more, hoping to expel what made me feel so sick, but nothing more would release itself. Last night had been a step in the right direction, but at what cost ? I couldn't do this. I couldn't-.

With _him_.

With…

Mabel had been so overtly satisfied in my willing response, the slight pat of my shoulder she'd given before exiting the car had almost felt normal. Stiff, but trying. Fucking trying. I hadn't felt that in forever. Of course, she hated this whole situation as much as I did. She didn't want this. She didn't want to stay seperate.

And, how could we come together if I was always so stubborn?

I'd done the little things. Bill and I were… not distanced exactly. We were still touching. A little.

Okay, a lot.

Kisses. Caresses. A slight flick of the hair, or a hand on the shoulder. It was all really good. Electrifying, even. Amplified by my own new vow of celibacy. No messing around. No sex. Which I hated more than anything. It easily took up one of the top three tiers in my favorite things to do.

But, what could be done? Going over to his place would mean not going home. And, what would Mabel think I was doing if my ass wasn't in the apartment, chewing pens, scripting together another five unchecked (but totally feasible) conspiracy theories in my notebook?

Well, exactly what I wanted to do.

But, couldn't.

Didn't.

Whether or not she knew I'd sectioned that aspect of our relationship off, or that I'd put in place restrictions at all. It was a little thing. That bit of resilience I should've had from the get-go, now played out on a whole other level of tooth-pulling pain. Being blue balled had become the most suffocatingly excruciating experience in my adult years, and who I was doing it for didn't even know I was doing it.

So, yes. Succumbing to the poison and crawling back to California on my hands and knees was necessary. It was an obvious attempt at fixing things. An open exclamation, ' Alright, I'm sorry!'

If only she knew how much I was really sacrificing.

A knock at the bathroom stall forced me from my thoughts. I glanced under the door, noting a familiar pair of polished dress shoes. Ah, Jesus.

" **Go away, Bill.** " My own overworked lungs surprised me. I placed a hand against my throat, massaging the tender meat in an attempt at easing its course tone. My partner only laughed.

"Having trouble?" He teased. I could just taste his stupid grin. It was enough to will a growl from my throat, even as a second wave of nausea crashed over me.

" **No**!" I blushed, balling up my fists. Just like that, Bill had his head popping up over the stall's top, grinning down at my green complection.

"Not looking so hot from this angle-."

" **Get the fuck out**! " I whipped my hand over my lips, paling harshly at the grimy slide of lingering puke. It was almost enough to have me doubled over in disgust, but my stomach had already been scooped clean.

"Don't be so harsh, pinetree. I thought you could use some moral support." That statement would've been comforting if spoken by literally anyone else. Bill of all people would do no less than thrive off of my pain. I wrinkled my nose at him.

" **Like _you_ know anything about morals** ." I spat. The satisfying grin across his lips only seemed to stretch his cheeks in two. He lifted either arm against the stall's door and crossed them under his chin, resting himself like he'd climbed a stoney wall to peer out beyond, and not down at his partner currently fighting back a dry-heave.

"Ironic, isn't it?" Bill limented for a moment, only to let out a snort. "So, what the hell is this?" His hand shot out to gesture towards me. "What's got you all… pukey ?"

" **You're here** ." I could feel a little color come back as bravado fueled my motions. It was only a cheap shot at his ego- one he'd recover from quickly- but I'd gotten a point in. As expected, his expression drooped, paused, and remade itself with a beaming grin.

"How cute." Bill sighed simply, looking down at me with a teasing smirk. "To think, I'd guessed we were getting closer. " The smile he laid on me was anything but innocent.

Here we go again.

" **No closer than usual.** " Energy leaked from my being as I forcibly stared him down, all the while his endless rush of vitality seemed to weaken my stance. Just looking at all that pent up power made me tired. To think he had so much stamina-.

Not the right word.

I groaned, running a hand down my face.

" _Listen, Bill. I already told you we can't-._"

"Hey, hey, hey! Trust me: I hear ya', buddy!" Bill slid down from the door, feet shuffling from the entrance as a kind of courtesy. "None o' that body-stuff until you've got whatever figured out with whoever for whatever reason." He joked airily. There was a kind of frustration behind his tone, I could feel. An annoyance. Like he knew exactly what was going on. Like we were just going around, and around, and around in this big circle, cat-and-mouse style. Like some sort of game he couldn't wait to get out of. Limbo, perhaps.

"I'm just saying . If you ever feel like -. "

**" I'll put a pin in it."**

"How about tonight?"

**" Bill. No."**

"Come on! A quick drink? A movie, even?"

**" You know that's not what we'll do."**

"But we could!"

**"But we won't. "**

" And ? What's so bad about that, pinetree? You scared ?" Bill's voice was teasing, as though the very thought of coming over chilled me to the bone, and I wasn't absolutely dying to drape myself on his couch. I snorted.

" **Terrified**." I moved to open the stall, greeting the persistent man in all his tailored glory. " **You might take advantage of me.**"

"Oh, baby. We're past that, aren't we?" Bill feigned shock, placing a dramatic hand over his chest. I couldn't help but roll my eyes at the poor excuse of a performance. Not that a guy like him gave a shit about fooling me. He was only teasing. Of course. There was nothing to convince. I knew what he was, after all.

A pain in the ass.

" **We're definitely _not_** ." I crossed my arms, looking him up and down with a snarky expression. A clearing of the throat was in order, the sharp sting of my lungs rubbing against each other anything but pleasant. Still, it felt as though something had come loose. A bit smoother. "You're the last person I'd ever let my guard down around." _Much_ better.

"I'll bet." Bill grinned, coming in a bit closer. He straightened the bowtie around his neck with shining pride. "Smart choice, but I doubt you'll be able to resist for long."

"Looks to me like _you're_ the one who can't resist." Bill's forward demeanor wouldn't so much as wane in the face of my accusation. If anything, the comment made him almost glow.

"Looks can be deceiving, sapling." He gave me a glance- one I couldn't rightfully pin- before sighing with something just short of victory. "You should know that better than _anyone_ by now."

Oh, yes.

Because, the man standing before me definitely _dressed_ like a gentleman.

But it was all surface-level.

He was a snake in a waistcoat.

I gave him a minute, sure Bill was bathing in his own self-glorification. The jackass. Handsome, pert jackass, feeling himself up every chance he got. All while slithering on his belly like the narcissistic shitface he really was. I would've snarled at his disgusting pride if-.

If…

It wasn't the _slightest_ bit endearing.

I decided to ignore his comment, sniffing hotly as I made my way around him. I was sure to bump his shoulder just a tad before crossing the tiled flooring to a sink. A quick burst of water came from the faucets, something I sighed at while ducking my head, taking in an awkward swig of rusty sink water, and swishing it in my mouth. The foul taste of my own upchuck slowly lifted, replacing itself with a dry copperiness that left my tongue feeling chapped. Not ideal, but definitely an upgrade from the constant reminder of half-digested soy sauce. I spat the backwash out, not overcoming the barest of self-consciousness when my partner snickered, poked fun, and continually alluded to how ' dirty' my mouth was.

"We do have water coolers here, pinetree."

I ignored him, wiping my lips once again to find only a smooth trail of water dousing my skin. My tongue searched for stray bits of mush and gunk between teeth -tasted the vibe of metal along gums- and came back relatively clean. Still, the memory of texture and smell disturbed my senses, and I couldn't help but smack my mouth to air out what lingered. I made a distasteful noise, but nothing more.

"Got all the ickies out, sweetheart?" Bill leaned against one of the sinks, butt almost cradling itself on the faucet. What I wouldn't give for it's sensor to go off and wet the back of his pants. It was a busted little thing though, and only frantic, arbitrary hand swipes seemed to trigger the damn pipe, if at all. The thought was entertaining, at least. I let out a small chuckle before schooling my features with a shrug and another swipe of the mouth.

"I don't taste like Lo Mein anymore, if that's what you're asking." Not that public-sink-water was much of an upgrade. Even if I hadn't put my mouth on anything constantly fondled by human hands, the thought of having it in my mouth made my stomach flop.

" _Good_ ." Bill replied, leaning over to grab me by the cheeks. His fingers clasped the curling tufts of hair that peeked over my ears as he tried dragging me in for a tongue-fueled kiss. It took me a moment to realize what he was trying to do before a heavy signal was shooting up my brain, down my spine, through every nerve of my body, and forcing me to respond. I yelped, reflexes saving me just as his breath coasted the skin of my lips. In a self-preserving act of modesty, my hand shot between our faces, blocking all contact.

"Bill, what the-?! _Gross_! " I reprimanded him, palm catching under his chin to snap off any and all face-to-face attacks from his range. He kept me in tight, hands sliding to snag on my shoulders when the sudden jerk had him placing every last bit of body weight against the sink. God, what I wouldn't give for even a spurt of water.

"Oh, come on pinetree! I've tasted you dirtier!" Bill quipped with a mischievous glint, working to wrap his leg around mine, hook the other under my waist and pull me in. I was resistant, though. Not even fooling around in the workplace was a feasible option for us. I'd marked it up as rule #1, 'Jackass with Benefits:' **Don't become the secretary.**

The ' How was your day, Mr. Angle?'

The 'What would you like from me, Mr. Angle ?'

The 'Can I get a raise, Mr. Angle?'

Hell no.

I was _not_ a secretary.

I was _not_ getting fucked like one.

And, I was not getting _caught_ for it.

Because if someone caught us in here, it would get out to Bulbs, who would tell his husband Durley, who would tell Lazy Susan, who would tell literally everyone with a side of fries, who would most _definitely_ tell Pacifica, who would- and I'm 100% confident- force me to tell Mabel. Not that it wouldn't be all over the news by then. Not that it wouldn't make everything 10x worse. Not that it wouldn't make the trench between Mabel and me into a cavern of insurmountable devastation.

Not that it would crush her weakened heart.

I wiggled out of Bill's vice-like grip, snarling at his abrupt mannerisms.

"Jesus christ, Bill! No! Don't you get it? N. O. _No_! "

"Well, stop _teasing_ then!" He retorted quickly, sporting a grin like a grimace. Bill looked amazingly frustrated. "We get to _kiss_. We get to _touch_! How long is this gonna hang on for? I'm absolutely _starving_ for some Dip!"

"That joke's definitely not helping." I quipped. For once, Bill didn't look so pleased by it, as though making light was some kind of personal attack. He leaned back, then forward, teetering awkwardly on the sink's curved top. His head fell into open hands, where fingers worked furiously to comb strand upon strand clean of knots and tangles. I could hear a low mumble under his breath- stalled, stuffed, and suffocated- before Bill finally shot his gaze back up; smile plastered on tight.

"What _will_ help, pinetree? In case you haven't noticed, my balls are being strung and hanged by a noose. It's not exactly a pleasant experience." I almost laughed at his analogy, feeling a soft tickle of relivense in the metaphor. 'Same,' I wanted to say. I didn't, of course. He'd only take it as fuel. Instead, my hand went to prop itself against my waist, hoping to come off as uninterested and indifferent as possible. Bill looked at me for a second, searching my expression for even a tinge of weakening resolve. When none was detected, he went back to combing- mumbling- before finally letting forth a groan.

"Look, kid. I'll cut you a deal, okay? Come over tonight; we'll get into a whole bunch of shenanigans, I'm telling you. Some real low-brow stuff for you to rewind. Trust me, you need to. I won't even pull anything. No bloody-murder. No screaming baby heads. No weirdness. Just good ol' fashioned sex, with a twist!" Bill's hand shot out for me, putting his whole body into the motion. A trying grin stretched his features. "So, how's it sound, pinetree?" His voice dropped an octave. "_Do we have a deal? "_

Which sounded ridiculously familiar.

Bone-chilling, teeth-chattering, toe-curlingly familiar.

A heat rode up my spine, inching its hands high to tug on the red string attached to a thick, golden bell; sound the alarms. Something was so amazingly perverse about what he'd just said, I could physically feel my spirit leave me. My stomach dropped again, and this time I was certain I'd puke. Because, looking into that single eye of his, the barest ring of blue encircling his gaze- new, invented, artificial- a tiny nothing began to drum.

He sounded so…

Nostalgic.

So memorable.

' Do we have a deal .'

I'd heard that before. There was no denying.

Fuck it.

Bill was crazy as shit.

Years of prepping, rejecting, fearing; readying myself against that Bill in case he ever came along. I'd almost thought it was pointless. It definitely felt pointless, in part because none of my worrying looked to fulfill that craving for control; stability. But, perhaps the constant on-edge act was justified.

I could always use the skill on my other Bill.

Thick skin.

It'd given me thick skin. Thick enough to glance at the offer- Want it. Drool for it- only to shrug at the hand and him with one calming flick. I was so beyond temptation. So conditioned to turn down any and all deals at the drop of a hat. Not even world peace could get me going, really. Not even ending all wars. World hunger. Global warming. Human trafficking. Cancer. I wasn't so romantic. I was calculated; cynical.

I didn't take handouts, and no one was giving them.

Something was always expected in return.

Something was always…

_Taken_.

My hand went out, parting his palm's path to tuck it down into his lap with a sly move. Bill's expression furrowed at the gesture, almost baffled by my open refusal, like no one had ever turned him away before. The expression didn't last long as his head tilted upward, viewing me with curious intent. I leaned in on him then, smiling with a smugness I was sure rivaled his own. My lips were inches from his, and for a moment there was confidence in his gaze. He looked like he might pull in to meet me, but decided against it; perhaps wanting me to make the final move. My breath broke across his cheeks, and a bit of a smirk came over my partner before finally- aggravated by my stalling- he flinched forward just an inch.

I laughed.

"How about '_no_'? " I pulled back just as his hands came to cup my cheeks, and had to physically fight back the billowing squeal of victory when seeing his reaction: Pale. Bill pain-in-my-ass Angle, one of the most golden-skinned motherfuckers in the GFPD, looked _pale_. His hands were stuck in midair, processing the lack of cheek-against-palm action he'd quickly prepared himself for, staring at the empty space I'd once occupied. "I can hardly 'deal' with you, as is." My arms crossed, feeling both smug and hesitantly sure in the face of boldness. Now, this. This felt like a win.

But, holy shit.

If looks could kill.

Bill's hands- frozen in place- slowly curled in on themselves, clutching at what should have been there, but wasn't. There was tension behind that squeeze, frustration, like his nails might shoot razor-sharp from the base and absolutely puncture flesh. Bill's gaze was quick to target his source of rath; me. And, he looked. Stared. Took in a mangled breath that promptly dissolved the little pride my dirty move had gifted. Sucked the oxygen from my own lungs. From the room. The building. I was stiff; airtight. Watching him, outright cursing myself at the feel of my own facial muscles going slack.

Goddamn it. He'd even sucked away my smile.

" _**You**_. " Bill's hands lowered, struggling to maintain composure. He placed either knuckle against the sink's pristine curve, certain his pulsing grip wouldn't lax enough to reveal blushing palms.

That eye.

Him .

He had become a very, very dangerous man, all in one swing.

" _**-are such a fucking brat**_. " My partner grit, willing the most painful, hateful smile I'd ever seen. His cheeks could've curled up into the Grinch's, it was so foul. And I, like the knucklehead I was, let out an obscene gulp. A literal gulp. The kind everyone anticipated, registered, and could trail your rising adam's apple with.

The kind I despised.

"And you're an _ass_ ." Thank god my voice didn't break; I wasn't sure I could come back from that. Still, there was something in avoiding eye contact that lessened even a slight shift in control. My remark had been wasted. Tossed up, but not caught. Instead, I spoke to the sinks, the tiled flooring, the drain pipe, the urinals, but not Bill .

It felt like we were on separate planes. That what we wanted- what we were working towards- had always been, and would always be, two completely different things. He wanted me in bed, under him, reaching or recoiling at every second he allowed me pleasure.

Or…

Was that not right?

My brain only nodded and confirmed, but my gut… Was still uneasy. It certainly wasn't wrong, but saying it was down-right correct seemed dumbly optimistic. Bill was clever, even I couldn't deny that. And, well-spoken. Educated. He was versatile and blunt, the kind that got you popped in the mouth. He was practical. Eccentric, but practical . Could something as primal as sex really drag him on his hands and knees so easily ? Was he really willing to bargain for it? Chase like a wild dog and risk subjectation? Could he even swallow all that sickening pride without choking if it meant half an hour's worth of bodily gratification?

Maybe that was what kept me from teetering over the edge. I'd diluted myself a little in motivation. Mabel's 'weak heart' and my ' reputation' were certainly on the line. But, it wasn't like I hadn't tossed them aside before in favor of Bill climbing on top. They were boundaries, not barriers. I could always kick and redraw the line in the sand. And, I always did.

Now, though.

Something was wrong.

Bill was wrong.

My gut twitched at that expression. My skin burned around him, and not every ounce was with desire. There was uncertainty. Confusion. Hesitence. A very old, very animalistic caution had tangled itself between the bleeding ropes of my brain and groin. There was a halt each time where he stood- where I stood- and caught behind Bill's dark cloud of lust something… Malicious.

Was sex all he wanted?

" _**Big words, sweetheart**_ ." He made a quick step forward, and even the distance between us couldn't stop me from jumping back. I did so with a hand clutching my chest, eyes wide, looking as though he'd pulled a knife. It made for an embarassing show when I caught my back foot on my front, stumbled and almost ate ceramic before my hand shot out to catch against a stall's handle. I let out half a lewd term when regaining my balance, yanking myself in place with heated cheeks.

Bill's features, whether voluntarily or not, brightened, twitched, and lifted when he let out a high laugh at my misfortune.

Like that, the mood shifted.

"Aw, bunny. Stop, you're _flattering_ me." Bill gave a jeering cackle, lifting himself on his heels with putrid satisfaction. It had all changed so easily . Fast enough to give me whiplash. That smile was casual, familiar, if not a little stiff. Holding onto a life-saver; clinging to that small gift in the middle of raging waves. It didn't take a genius to see what had just happened.

He was changing the subject.

A quick, cool transition from jarring rage to softer, more friendly waters. Even though I'd been in the waves. I was the stranded sea man, and he… Bill was the storm.

And he'd let me off the hook. For whatever reason. Maybe he didn't have the energy. Maybe he didn't want to scare me; hurt me. But, I was only indulging myself. I was better than to entertain the idea. No. Bill was more complicated than that.

He couldn't risk blowing his top.

The thought alone frightened me, but I couldn't let it show. Taking him in- his buzzing motions, the slouch in his perfect posture, the slight tilt of his bowtie- he'd taken that one opening and ran with it. Open door, open door from the fire, pire and more. Like he'd just barely escaped disaster. Exposure. From the space of silence not usually granted, I realized he expected me to run out with him.

"You-re impossible." A stutter, but nothing more. I took it as a win. Bill did too, glancing towards the exit. He made a turn, shrugging tightly.

"Which means infeasible, means unreal, means mythical, means fabulous, means marvelous . Kid, if I'd known you were such a charmer, I would've swept you off your feet sooner." He remarked cooly.

He couldn't risk it.

Something told me he just couldn't.

And, I wasn't sure why.

[]

The hours drove by in the lab. Bill took a seat behind my desk while I worked away at numerous documents sent up by Bulbs. Status reports. Updates. Names, age and sex, all filled out and spaced for my viewing pleasure. And Bill, who found it convenient he could read over my shoulder if his chest was pressed to my back. I always moved away. Hesitant, but… less begrudgingly.

My eyes would drift over him every so often, just to make sure he hadn't moved from his spot. And, yes. Bill was stagnant where he sat, legs kicked up, arms folded behind head, cloud-gazing through the window. Or, so it seemed. There was always that stinging burn when I turned from him, having paid his subdued attitude a glance; a single spot at the back of my head, prickling the hairs to stand on end. Every time I turned back though, he was off doing something else. Humming, whistling; not staring at me, but putting every fibre of his being into anything else.

I wasn't sure I had any basis for feeling uneasy at that. I always felt like someone was watching me. But, this was much too close. And, too out of character for Bill's otherwise abrupt personality. He was a forward guy; he'd tell me if he had something planned. At the very least, he'd allude to it. The guy was a dick, after all. He couldn't go five seconds without imbedding some dark, elusive cryptograph into each and every conversation that knocked at his door.

By the day's last hour, I was sure I'd burst without confronting the strange atmosphere. Bill, for the most part, had been silent the duration, and I was sure he was still ticked off for what I'd pulled in the bathroom. Wasn't that kind of not Bill? It didn't take a psychologist to tell that he of all people hated avoiding confrontation. Anything that let on nervousness or overt discomfort was openly scoffed at, and regarded as borderline cowardly. He wouldn't do that. Bill wouldn't do that.

Something was up.

Something was different.

Bill was…

He was…

I took a second to myself, looking over my shoulder again. Not even a glance in my direction.

_No, Dipper. No. Nothing's wrong here. Nothing's different._

_You're different._

_You're wrong._

_You know why you're so paranoid today. You know why nothing feels right. You do._

Of course I was on edge. The empty knot in my stomach should have been proof enough.

I was so ridiculously off balance, it was playing with my head.

_Every corner, Dipper. He's behind every corner._

And, who could blame me? I'd just locked myself in place for the most awkward family reunion of my life.

_The drift of citrus._

My stomach pinched out of pain this time. I hadn't eaten since last night.

_Cars, zooming past. Never stopping. Never glancing._

I looked over my shoulder again, on a whim. Bill's neck flinched with a slight turn, and I convinced myself it was only an itch, not his head snapping away.

_His thick, wide hand pressing on my knee._

My eyes drifted over the final paragraph of some cryptic document inscribed with fussy words and description; what I was supposed to understand, but didn't. What adults expected you to know by now.

_What's for dinner tonight? When's it due? The club meeting Monday._

Funny how people just expect you to know by now; they just expect you to understand. One day, everything just falls into place; sitting on the couch, eating a sandwich, enjoying that last bit of child wonder when suddenly, you're switching channels to watch stock markets crash, and updates on the leaked Pentagon papers, and following on the elections and presidents and policies and pretending to understand even a drop of what every politition's saying, and feeling outraged with one party and pleased with the other.

_I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to go home. I want to. I want to. I want to. I want to. I want . I want . I want ._

But, life's not always so simple, because I'm still sitting here looking over these papers, not sure what the hell I'm supposed to understand, and what should be left blank, or who these should even be turned in to.

_Have you ever kissed-?_

_No._

_Would you-?_

_**NO**._

The truth is, I don't understand a goddamn thing. I never have. I never will, and it gets so frustrating when people look to me for answers. I don't know. I just… don't. I couldn't tell you the life-span of a sea turtle. I'm not entirely sure the poverty rates in the middle east. I can't so much as spell 'sycophant,' let alone give you a definition.

_You fucking kids! You think **everyone's** all over you!_

_Because you were. You **are** ._

I don't know. I've never known. I've been in the dark since day one. But, people look at me, and they expect. Don't I hold myself so maturely for my age? Aren't I so much more mature?

_I didn't do anything!_

_Tell that to CPS._

How could I ever ask for advice when everyone gave me that look? How could I ever tell a single soul what had happened?

How could I ask about paperwork? Taxes? Applying for college? Scholarships?

Hell, even safe sex? I carried myself like I knew things. Like I understood, and people believed me. They fucking bought it.

_And don't you **dare** tell your mother, or I-._

_You'll what?_

_I'll-!_

_You won't. The only reason you came onto me is because I'm vulnerable. John, you're **weak**._

I wish I'd known. So many things I know now, that I had to learn the hard way, I wish I could've been spared the recoil. I wish someone had seen it. Damn, I wish I'd done something. I wish I'd known, and I wish people hadn't expected me to.

**But, you didn't, and they did.**

**Because you couldn't stand to face it.**

**You couldn't stand to digest.**

**Just puke it up.**

**Puke.**

**It.**

**Up.**

One last look behind me, and I could swear Bill's eye had met mine. It was fast- snipped- and before I confirmed it, his attention was elsewhere. The last five minutes of work. The last five, and I was filling it with paperwork I didn't understand.

Stressing over the past.

Worrying about Mabel.

Trying to wrap my head around every second of every hour of every day, just to keep things in line.

Because there were quotas to be met.

_Expectations_.

And, I'd fall on my knees to blow the corporate figure head in charge of leashing me to a stack of documents in a language I didn't speak, for a project I wasn't a part of, to a person I didn't know.

Something about that was so remarkably sobering.

Five minutes of my life: Gone. We could be bombed right here, right now, and my final moments on replay would be my brows furrowed intently on the word 'boondoggle.'

That was no way to go out.

"Hey, Bill." My brain spoke before I did, a side compartment of my psyche working on auto-pilot. It hardly bothered me in my numbing stare, the document bumping my skull, but never seeping into the fabric layering of memory.

My partner looked up, a little quicker than your average man just ' cloud gazing .' I willed the thought away, instead allowing myself to rest in his attention. Five minutes. Every day could be lived like five minutes, and I used it each time to do what I thought was important: Taxes, work, cleaning, and eventually having ' fun.' Good. All good things.

Every day.

Every.

Day.

Repeat, repeat, repeat.

Wake up, work, go home, sleep.

Oh! But, what about the weekends?

Same thing done drunk.

Same thing hung over.

Same thing a little buzzed.

Lather, rinse, repeat repeat repeat.

And, every time something became tempting.

Someone became tempting.

A cute blond. A raven-haired bear. Red-headed curly fry. The bar-tender. The guitarist. That handsome new barista you told yourself you never noticed, and promised never to let Mabel near. And, why ?

Because:

_The smell of citrus; of soft powder. The drip of rain. Thunder of engines. Pitter patter pitter patter, windshields squeaking and car emissions puffing. The hand on your knee. Your ass. Heat across your lips. Telling him to stop. Acting like you hated it. Hated, hated, hated._

_But, you didn't._

_In fact, if you could stomach the guilt…_

_You would have asked for another._

_Still. Repeat, repeat, repeat._

"Alright. _Deal_ ." I smiled at Bill, ignoring the thick, gooey mush of black something behind that eye of his. That look of victory; of winning.

Five minutes of my life, wasted on paper work.

Nearly seventy thousand hours going into a constant blitz of guilt, trauma and remorse. Stopping myself. Drawing out restrictions and schematics and a platform for my 'moral high ground,' if it all kept me looking like I knew where the hell I was, what the hell I wanted, and why the hell any of this bullshit was necessary.

Now _that_ was bullshit. I couldn't give you a solid answer without time travel. All this worrying, all this denial, all this regret. Wasn't it so sickening to hear on replay?

Absolutely; a complete waste of time.

Bill returned with a charmed smile, tilting his head cattishly.

"What's this? Is Mr. goody-two-shoes finally giving in?"

"I'll let you figure it out, smart guy."

[]

Bill's car was nice. Too nice for him, obviously. I tried not to remember how he'd gotten it, or what old lady had to die so he could have it, and why there was still a light stain of lake sludge on the seats. No, I ignored it in favor of that heavy taste against my tongue. His kisses, deep, passionate, a little toothy from constantly grinning and bitter with smoke.

I leaned over the gear shift, fighting back a surge of vibrations channeling from where it pressed into my stomach, instead focusing on how Bill led me. His hand clutched the steering wheel, engine running, seatbelts on, car still parked in front of the GFPD. We'd decided waiting to reach his apartment before touching was a waste of patience. What was the point, after all?

It wasn't like tonight was our last chance.

No; we had all the time in the world.

All the time to mess around, drink from each other, envelope ourselves in this hypnotic function. This craving.

Because waiting was stupid.

Waiting had always been so stupid.

And, why should I have given a shit either way?

Come Monday morning, I'd be off by 8 AM to the slaughter house.

To see _him_.

To see-.

My fingers tangled, yanked at his blond hair and forced my tongue as far as it would go. Bill was quick to comply; he'd never let me have control. Every attempt at pushing forward made him push back that much harder.

_Don't think about it. Don't._

_Savor this._

_Love it._

_Cherish the taste. The smell. The feel of tongue against tongue, lip against lip, tooth scraping tooth._

The action only escalated when he moved to have me pressed against the door. I could feel myself melt into it, turning warm against my legs when Bill drew my lip between his front teeth.

"Ah, _fuck_. " I groaned, feeling the way it slid free of his grip.

Yes, this was perfect.

Everything about this was amazing.

_**Until it started to rain.**_

And, I went rigid. Just a little. Not enough to stop everything, but to make it that much harder to reciprocate kisses.

_**I missed the bus home. On the worst of all days, because it was raining cats and dogs outside, so no way I was riding my bike-.**_

I pushed the thought out, fighting Bill's nip with one of my own. Harder, bitter with a spritz of copper that made his growl.

_Who cares, right? I've wasted so much time on this. I've spent so long eating away at myself for something I didn't understand. That wasn't my fault. That wasn't my fault._

My hands trailed his cheeks, his neck, only to hook a finger under his bowtie and pull.

_Taste it._

_Feel it._

_Let all of that past stuff go and just forget._

**_But, how-?_**

_Just forget-._

**_HOW?_**

The weather worsened in a matter of seconds, burying the car in a sheet of sliding rain. It forced me to stiffen when my head turned, looking over the heavy layering like a thick curtain. Surely, everyone would be too busy shielding themselves from the wet to notice us here, embracing each other, holding onto this heat in his car.

My throat tightened.

**_I turned my head, looking out the window, hoping to catch a glimpse of a passing car; someone who'd see us. They didn't, and when he noticed I was looking away, he grabbed me by the chin-._**

_Shut up._

**_-squishing my cheeks as he snapped my head to look at him._**

_SHUT UP._

Bill didn't mind my turnt gaze, only taking it as an opportunity. His hand left my cheek to slide down my shirt, stopping to rub circles around my clothed chest. He buried his nose in the space just below my ear, whispering softly.

"_Your heart's beating pretty fast, baby_." A kiss to the skin before drawing his other hand up to turn my face from the window. A sweet peck against wet lips brought me back to reality.

_" Yeah… Yeah, I know."_

_Things are different now._

_Things change._

_You're not that naive little kid you were back in Piedmont._

_He'd got no power over you._

_You're smarter. Braver. You can face this on your own._

_Like always._

Bill, for the fun of it, revved his car once, forcing the whole thing to vibrate. I snorted into the kiss, the tingling kick of an engine rising in my flesh. It was funny for a second. It was funny . It was .

_**I started to sink, the vibrations of the car mixing with the vibrations of the rain, rocking my mind into a mental checklist. I no longer noticed-.**_

_Bill's a great kisser._

_**-the passing cars-.**_

_It's all so exciting._

**_-blurring trees-._**

_It's a step forward. It's a step in the right direction, finally._

_**-and buzzing radio station John insisted on tuning into.**_

My breathing picked up as I dug my nails into Bill's jacket. Because he tasted good. Because he kissed well. Because things were fucking different now and I didn't have to worry anymore. I had come out, and I knew what I was, and no one could take that away from me.

Nothing was wrong.

I could do this.

I could do it all myself.

_" You nervous?"_

_"Why would I be nervous?"_

"_You're shaking, sapling_." Bill laughed, trying to pull away, only for my mouth to chase his.

_Don't take this away from me. Don't let me feel. Don't let me think._

_I don't want to think._

" _Don't worry_." He cooed, taking that hand on my chest and sliding it lower. Down, down, down until it rested against my hip. My breath hitched painfully. " _I promise to put you back right how I found you._" A toothy grin. The coasting of hot lips. All soothing, smothering, intoxicating.

And, suddenly horrifying.

_**But, I remember him being close. Unprofessionally so. Close enough to cage me up against the door. Close enough to feel my heart pump against his chest. Close enough to feel the hand up my pant leg play with the elastic of my boxers.**_

I trembled in his hold, but couldn't bring myself to stop. We kissed again. Quick skin against skin, moving in and pulling away just as fast. The familiar feeling I usually got wasn't coming as easily. Instead, it was blocked off. A dam. A wide, pooling dam that willed wave upon wave of rushing heat to the back of my mind. Something leaked from that stoney wall. Something trickled, cracked, and downright shook my foundation.

Something…

Was building up.

And, when Bill finally slid his hand down to rest at my knee, the walls collapsed.

**_His fingers flinched, catching a bit of extra skin near my thigh, only to go back to rubbing my bare knee._**

"_Nhg- NO_!" I cried, snapping away from the contact.

**_John repeated, squeezing my knee as he did._**

"_DON'T FUCKING TOUCH ME_! " Those lips had left me, but I didn't care. The taste in my mouth was suddenly foul.

**_I could feel his heartbeat through where his skin pressed against mine, noting the subtle slick of sweat when his wrist twisted to rub my boney knee._**

Before I knew it, my hands were flying to yank at the door handle, only to find it was locked. A kind of dread washed over me then.

"_You fucking bastard! You- you goddamn bastard_!" I jerked my body back and forth, working with all my strength to free this energy.

_You're different now, Dipper._

**_No, you're not._**

_Age has made you wiser; stronger._

**_You're right where you left off. You haven't grown. You don't know any more than you did back when you were young._**

_You can get past this. It's easy if you try. Just think: all that time wasted loitering on what John did to you._

**_What you did to yourself._**

_It's made you stronger._

**_It's made you confused._**

_You'll confront him._

**_You'll hide._**

_And tell him right to his face what a goddamn perv he is._

**_You haven't moved from your spot._**

**_You're still in his car._**

I felt a cold hand wrench my wrist, snapping my grip away with rug-burn speed. It made me scream, kicking out at the dash as I nearly nailed Bill with the most angst-fueled left hook I'd ever dished. But, I was delirious, power hungry and off center. My shot knocked against his head rest and popped it from its metal rods. That didn't exactly help things.

"Jesus _christ_ , kid! Calm the fuck down, will you?" Bill growled, tightening his grip on my wrist. I whimpered, keeping a hold on the car's door handle with my free hand. He was too close. That fucking touch was too close. But, it had never been before…

**_Because, you didn't have to face it before._**

**_You never thought you'd have to see him again._**

"Don't be a goddamn coward, pinetree. Take the death penalty with a little dignity, will you?" He looked at me, only to play with a sour expression and outright dump my wrist into my lap. "And stop _crying_! Holy shit, kid!"

I used my freed hand to check, touching lightly at my cheek before pulling away; damp.

**_Just like in his car. The pieces are falling into place again._**

**_Because you never thought to resolve things._**

" _L-et me out of the ca-ar, Bill_ ." I sniveled, running a hand under my nose.

_I want to go home I want to go home I want to go home I want to-._

" _Why_? " He asked.

"_ B-because I fucking **said** so_ !" I yanked again at the handle, unmoving, watching Bill's face as he gave a bored expression to my distress. He sucked in a breath, rolled his eye, before falling back into his seat and actually groaning at me.

"Don't be a pussy; I'm not gonna hurt you that bad."

" _Yo-u're not fucking f-unny, Bill! You're not_!" He slammed his hand against the wheel.

"What did I _just_ _say_ about crying? Grow some balls."

_" Fuck you!"_

"Fuck you too, princess."

"_You cunt-!_" I snapped around, pulling at the bar with a new vigar. I could almost convince myself of the lock loosening, or the metal bending, or the rain stopping, or the sensation on my knee dissolving, or that entire interaction going a completely different route.

The timeline where it didn't rain, and I decided to bike home.

Where mom could pick me up.

Or, the bus was delayed, and I made it just in time for them to drive me back.

But, those things never happened. They didn't exist.

I was here, with someone I… _liked_, in a car, in the rain trying to wrap my head around how stupid I was, and am, and would always be. Since I fucked up so bad.

Because I wasn't sure I could get over it.

_" Let me out of the **fucking** car, asshole."_

"I'm not your _butler_ . Why not open it yourself, Goliath? You had enough '_manpower_' to knock the teeth out of my headrest." Bill emphasized his point when lifting the busted object by its snapped metal rod, bent at a 90 degree angle. He waved it like a flag. "How's about showing my window the same courtesy?"

_"I fucking hate you."_

"No, you don't." He put the thing down.

" _Yes, I do._ " I grit through clenched teeth. My eyes were red, my cheeks hot, my throat tight, and a second wave of tears flowing. It only worsened when Bill took my expression and _smiled_ .

"No, baby. You really don't." After that, he sighed again, lowering the headrest to his side. He gave me a half glance- one quick, confident look- before humming something like understanding. His hand went out like he'd touch me again, and I flinched away. That made him snicker. "You're _associating_ ."

My body went cold where I sat, the handle in my grasp suddenly lacking.

William Angle.

_Criminal mind expert._

_"No, I'm-."_

"Something about this reminds you of someone, I'll bet." Because, Bill was just the kind of asshole to wait for me to respond so he could cut me off. "Something…" He gave a distasteful expression, rolling his hand through the air for inspiration. When no better description came, he gave his diagnosis hesitantly. " -'_triggered_' you."

"_I'm not the triggering type_." I shot.

"Then it's recent."

_"No-."_

"Then you're just now acknowledging it."

_" No-!"_

"Then you're just now _remembering_\- ." He leaned in on me with that smug expression I'd always hated.

**_"Quit it!"_**

Bill always knew best.

Bill was a walking microscope, the way he held people down and watched them squirm on a petri dish.

He knew so goddamn much, it was scary.

It was dangerous.

Someone like him would lose out on life if he kept up with the all-knowing bullshit. He didn't know everything. He certainly didn't know me.

Because if he did, he'd know how much this was pissing me off.

…

Or, maybe he knew me a bit too well.

"Hey, don't raise your voice, pinetree. I'm right here."

But, that gaze wasn't. That look of honest entertainment seemed completely disconnected from our current conversation. Like he was enjoying it; it only filled him with curiosity and wonder figuring out exactly how and when I'd fucked myself over.

Because Bill Angle couldn't feel .

" _No, you're not_ ." I spat darkly. " _You're not here. You're-. You're somewhere else, I don't know. Doing- crack or meth or whatever the hell it is that makes you such a fucking sociopath, but you're not **here**._ " I shook my head, biting down a mounting wave of severe disappointment. In Bill, for being a catastrophic omen that brought nothing but chaos to whatever we were. And me, who still searched for the human in him. For some reason, I still checked. Like he'd ever change.

Like he'd ever _care_.

Bill patted himself down, sliding open palms over his chest like he was checking for something.

"I _feel_ like I'm here." Because, wasn't he such a smart ass? The smirk he shot made me sick in a new way. Not disgust or uneasy, but mild confusion.

Why did I try so hard for that guy?

"_God_…" I eventually sighed after a long pause, lowering my head into my hands. "_It's hopeless, isn't it?_"

"Probably." Bill answered without really knowing what I meant. That somehow made it all the more worse. "But, let's give it a shot anyways, hmm?" He gave my shoulder a nudge and my hair a small ruffle. I flinched away, hand pulling once more at the door that wouldn't open.

"_You're the devil __incarnate_." The rain hadn't stopped, nor would it for a while, which was fine. It gave me an excuse for why I was late picking up Mabel. Since I definitely wasn't doing _this_ . Not in the end, I guess.

Five minutes more: _Wasted_.

"Don't insult me; I'm at least ten times worse." Despite my own dipping mood, I found the will to snort at his remark. God, if the guy couldn't be a loving, supportive boyfriend, he could at least be an entertaining, funny escort. Maybe that was the description I was looking for. Certainly not the most satisfying, but it went somewhere.

"I'll bet." Bill snapped the key out of the ignition, turning the car off. The vibration was gone. Rain was much louder under his roof. "I don't think I've ever met anyone as despicable as you before."

"Gotta defend my spot, pinetree." I sucked in a breath, lifted my head and looked at him. Smiling. Always smiling, but I knew him well enough to discern one from the other. Mirthy, frustrated, flirtatious, angry; I'd seen them all. And, this one, which was both entertained and oddly hesitant. My head whipped around with a shake.

"Why are you like this?"

"It'd take too long to explain." Bill laughed before leaning over me. I scooted away from him, only to realize he was aiming for something other than me. The glove compartment. Open, close, and a white box in hand, along with a shining lighter. I'd never seen him with a lighter before.

"Same." He flicked the metal flint roller, burning the edge of his cigarette in peace. The look he gave me said something like ' I don't care' and ' I already know.'

"Same how?" Bill asked, despite the look in his eye. I scoffed at the question, sniffing once to clear out my nose. It was cold inside without the car running.

"You don't want to know." Was my response. My partner let out a chuckle and a puff of smoke before turning to watch me.

"Well, _now_ I do." He snickered. "Come on; don't hold out on me. What's got my baby in such a sour mood?" The car grew murky with each draw of his smoke when he leaned back, kicked his feet on the dash, and tilted his head towards me with a grin. I tried not to like the smell.

"Do you even _care_?"

"I cared enough to waste my time asking, didn't I?" Bill shrugged once, took the smoke in deep and blew every last cloud at my face, making me feel so much warmer. It wasn't as cold here, the way his cigarette's heat soaked me. My lips stretched against a grin, hoping to starve it off with a grimace.

"It's a long story."

"Are we on a time-schedule?" I looked out the window. The pouring hadn't softened. It would be dangerous driving out in this kind of weather.

Mabel would understand my delay.

"...No-."

" _Fantastic_ ." Bill went out, placing a tactical hand on my shoulder. One I couldn't will myself to shrug away, and I knew he knew that. He pulled the stick from his lips, blowing a thick line across my face, and I could tell he understood the effect it had on me. Perhaps he meant to drug me with it. Hypnotize me. Whatever the case, it was working, and when Bill finally leaned away, tracing his fingers under my chin before drawing it back, I was fighting tooth and nail not to chase the contact. "_So, tell daddy what's wrong._" He cooed.

I huffed at him, a tiny smile pulling at my lips from his playful tone. Always an asshole. Always messing around. I took a final look out the window before sighing.

"Don't laugh." I warned. He smiled back, a bit nonreassuring.

"I'll try my best."

So, I told him.

_Everything_.

Every last detail of that day, and the days before, and the ones after.

I explained the complexing partnership of my parents.

The daunting loom of their separation.

My mother's sudden drive to out-do whatever my father had been, or would ever be to her, Mabel and me.

And how, in a stroke of misfortune and unforeseen consequences, her hunt had dragged John into the picture.

Who he was.

What he was.

And why I couldn't bare seeing him again.

It was only after finishing that I realized the constant stream of tears driving down my face, and the sudden addition of thunder, and the way Bill listened and smiled.

_Darker_.

So much darker.

After a moment of silence, he let out a laugh.

"So, he _touched_ you? Is that what happened?"

"You said you wouldn't laugh."

"I said I'd _try_." I turned to yank at the handle one final time. Locked.

" _Great_. " I snarled, banging my head against the window. He chuckled at me, the hand placed on my thigh promptly slapped away. "_So glad you got to personally snuff out my self-esteem. Can I go now?"_

"No."

"Oh, come the fuck _on_, Bill! If you don't give a shit, stop messing around and just- just open the fucking _door_, will you?"

"Aw. Pinetree, of _course_ I care-."

"_Up yours_." This was such shit. This was literally total shit. I hadn't even told Mabel about John, and I'd just spilled the beans for him.

_Great job, Dipper. You're a cheater, a perv, anxiously gay, and now, apparently brain dead . Five stars: World's dumbest human._

"And, that's why I'm gonna _help_ you." Bill continued. I didn't even entertain the idea. I just let out a hopeless laugh, looked him up, down and crossed my arms with a scowl.

"You'll _help me_? Oh, sure. _Sure_. How could I ever doubt you?"

"I know! _Right_ ?" He exploded with confidence, hands flying out to swirl the second smoke in his hand through the air. "With me on your side, what could go wrong-?"

" **Don't**. " I grit. " Don't even _say_ that, Bill. There's too many to count."

"And, you're counting them, aren't you?"

"What am I supposed to do? If I can't prevent an outcome, the least I can do is _perceive_ it." Bill shrugged, taking a drag.

"So if you're ever tied down on the train tracks, well _hey_! Just 'cause you can't jump out of the way doesn't mean you can't watch that locomotive barrelling towards you, right?"

"Right." I threw it away; all of it. Whatever fight I had left in me. He wasn't going to stop if I kept my fists up over my face. Might as well let him have his fun, walk over me, and be done with this finally. If I looked like I wouldn't stir, he'd get bored and give up.

Hopefully.

" _But_… Let's say there was a passerbyer who saw your pretty little figure snagged on the rails. What says you?" I ducked my head, chin cradled in hand as I watched the rain fall. Mabel was waiting now, I was sure of it. A bit unsure. Maybe doubting my arrival. There was no sure answer. I should call her, and let her know I'd be a little late. But, maybe that was overdue. She'd been waiting at least ten minutes now.

"Hope they brought popcorn."

"Don't be so _macabre_!" Bill laughed, slapping me on the back. I didn't so much as flinch at the contact. "Come on: You're _tied_ to the rails, and there's a _train_ barreling towards you at eighty miles an hour. No swiss army knife. No wiggle-room. But there _is_ an extremely handsome blond that just so happened to come across you right before hitting. What do you do?" I shot him a dirty look before replying.

"I brace for impact."

"Aw, don't be like _that_-."

_"What the fuck's the point you're trying to make?_" I snapped. Bill's smile wavered. "Am I supposed to say ' _I'd call for help_ ' here? Huh? Is that what I'm supposed to say?"

"_Exactly_-!"

"Then you're goddamn _nuts_, Bill. You're literally _nuts_ If you think I'd ask you or anyone for help."

"Hey! Don't think of it as help. Think of it as… a _solid_. " I let my head fall back against the headrest, laughing bitterly at his suggestion.

**This fucking guy.**

" _There_ it is! I should've known a guy like _you_ would never help me without wanting something in return."

"What can I say, pinetree? I'm a blood-born American. Capitalism's my game!"

"_Great. **Great**._ " A second wave of tears. Or, third. Fourth, maybe? I wasn't sure. All I was sure about was Mabel waiting inside, looking down at her phone, wondering whether or not it was okay to call and ask when I'd be over to pick her up, which I wanted to do ten times more than anything around Bill. I sniffed, shaking my head. "_And, what exactly would you want in return?_"

"Who's to say? I'm a humble guy with a well-paying job. I don't need a stack of green to keep me happy." And that leering expression was anything but tempting. "Maybe you could come up with something."

I was close to exploding then.

This whole situation.

This ' _hypothetical_' bullshit he'd tangled me up in.

A barrelling train.

Eighty miles.

Me, tied to the rails.

And Bill, smiling, gulping down popcorn, asking if I needed help.

_Wow, no **fucking** **shit** ._

Even then, speaking over the bursting choo of the locomotive, he dallied on the subject.

_' Looks to me you're a bit tied up at the moment!'_

Cause he couldn't bother giving a shit unless I was valuable.

I had something to offer back.

And, I just wished I'd gotten mixed up with someone a little more human.

"_So, what? I blow you, and you'll untie me from the railing, is th-at it?_" My voice broke. Of course it did. I was still crying, and this guy was still talking, and I was still trying to figure out my own way out from in front of the train. But, it just kept chugging. Faster, faster. And Bill just stood there, watching, dropping beads of kettle corn over my flinching face, waiting for me to give in and pay his fee. What more did I have to lose, though? "_ You're fucking **shit**, Bill. You're literal scum._ "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! I'm not the one suggesting_ blow jobs_. That's all on _you_. " He laughed. I almost broke down, but the metaphor was still playing in my head, and a small part of me wanted to know how this Bill could even save me. "Still… I'm tempted to take up your offer-."

" _So glad we could come to a consensus_. " I huffed, yanking at the door for the billionth time today. " _Then fucking 'untie me' and I'll give you what you want._ "

_Untie me._

_Unlock the door._

_Just let me out, out, out for fuck's sake!_

Bill couldn't help me, I knew that.

More so, he _wouldn't_ help me. The kind I needed had been emotional after all, and he'd demonstrated perfectly well how impossible that was for him.

I'd just do it myself.

Like always.

I'd find a way out from under the train.

"Who said anything about _untying_?" Bill laughed at me, this time capturing both wrists in his grasp. I tried wrestling away, but only a little. Again, my spirit was gone. I hardly cared to listen. I hardly cared to understand, or imagine the metaphor. He had some snarky whatever to play with; so teasing pun about coal miners, or a caboose, or being steam-powered or other.

Little did I know how seriously he'd taken it. The metaphor.

His hand let me free to tuck itself under my chin, lift my ducked head and view the untainted honestly before me. When his eye met mine, and that smile hardened, and that look on animalistic mirth coated the several layers of his person, I felt cold. And hot. And suddenly sure that this was more Bill than I'd ever seen.

**_"I say we kill the conductor."_**


	36. On The Road

If someone had told Dipper a week ago that he'd be waking up Monday morning- bags in trunk, coffee in hand, wheel in grip- for a ten hour drive from Roadkill county to Piedmont, he would have laughed in their face. Not just laughed, but dismissed. Because, if Dipper knew himself, he knew how firmly gripped the soil of Oregon's dirt roads were to the undersides of his soles. He was planted like a tree, roots shot, thick, and soaking away at the nutrients of local land. This pine would not move. It would not.

And, what's more, if a stranger were to inform this young man of who was to _accompany _him on his long journey-. Perhaps Dipper's stomach would have dropped, the unmarked pale of his flesh growing lighter still in the contrasting view of evening sun, cheeks drained white and fingers numb. The skin beneath his bangs would dampen, as the same occurred between the bends of either arm and pit. He may have grown queasy with food poisoning, despite having skipped breakfast and lunch; some unidentified virus in the lining of his abdomen. And, as all else, Dipper would have fallen ill, pale white and astonished all in one wash of disbelief, standing now only to battle the statement in denial.

But, that was only if he bothered to accept the fact that- yes- he was going to California this morning. And- _yes- _his horrible lover had decided to come along. Dipper was anything but willing to accept this truth, and so worked to digest it in small doses; starting with Bill's reminder text to have him picked up by six, and followed by the trim blond sliding in, legs crossed, all grinning, before buckling himself firmly into the passenger's seat. The shrill _click _of metal securing itself within a beaten down buckle gave rise to an extra dose of reality, but he was still all but willing to acknowledge his situation.

What they were _planning_.

Mabel had opted for a plane ticket at the last minute, despite her unexplainable fear of heights. Maybe out of necessity; a need to get there before Dipper. Or, out of courtesy. To free the car and all its gears, leaving its coffee-tinged scent untainted by bulky, daunting silence. There would be silence. There would be silence still. She was anything but comfortable there, with him, in the mornings and evenings, driving to and from work, stretching but failing to reach for a topic to speak on that they could both relate to. Here now, he and Mabel were two separate beings, and the reality was suffocating.

They were not the same.

They were very, very different.

"Did you bring it?" Dipper croaked dryly, eyes forced on the road. Or, somewhere else, farther out beyond their current position on the highway. A far off glaze poured over his features, focus seemingly stretched mile upon mile ahead of him. Not at the lane blocked in by two strips of white. The cars bumpering him on either side. Instead, out; far, far out, as though he could see Piedmont in the distance. The house's pretty white paint job. Mom's failed gardening projects. Her minivan in the driveway, parked unsuitably beside a sleek black BMW.

_John's_.

Bill cackled, jerking his hand down to adjust the seat back. "Bring _what, _darling?" He sang, arms folded behind his head, eye trained on his partner's ruined expression.

"You _know _what!" Dipper's patience was just short of non-existent, slamming his fist against the wheel, almost switching lanes. He was quick to catch his temper, to still the shaking of his fingertips, the curling of his lips, the burning, wretched swell in his stomach. Bill was just teasing. Always teasing, he knew that. "The-... _stuff_."

"It's called '_poison,' _sweetheart."

"_Whatever. _You brought it, right?" Dipper's hand rose, left placed over right, turning onto US-97. It was only after he made his turn and looked out towards the never-ending stretch of black tar that a mental clock materialised. It would be a long drive without Mabel. Longer still with her replacement being a total dick. Bill clicked his tongue, signalling Dipper's attention.

He held lightly -carelessly- a thimble-sized silver flask, engraved in tiny inscriptions. Not english, not manderian; more spoken through shape and curve than actual dialect. Code, perhaps. It sunk inwards where Bill's chisel had meticulously scribed each bit of passage, yet lacked a shadow from its divots. Instead, a lace of aquamarine colored the tiny trenches of split silver; like flowing rivers through a land of shining ash. A line of white road up where the sun bounced off the inscriptions, and Dipper's throat tightened.

"_Happy birthday_." Bill cooed, letting the small container dance between his fingers. He tossed it up, caught it like a trick with his pinky and ring, transferring it effortlessly to the web of flesh that connected his thumb to index, before sliding it back in his pocket like a reward.

"Don't _mess _with it. Who knows? You might- drop it. Or-or, lose it, and then where would we be?"

"Back at my place, making a new batch." Cipher shrugged. Dipper snapped around to rebuke his nonchalant response, only for Bill's hand to wave him off. "_Relax, _will you? Yeesh, kid. Not that we haven't gone over the plan a thousand goddamn times at your majesty's request-." He took a moment to bow and gesture. "Couldn't you have a little _faith _in me? I'm an expert; I know what I'm doing."

The road stretched on. On, and on, and on, Dipper decided. The vessel he drove- not with the wheel, the keys, and the engine, but his skin, bones, and blood- was there for the sole purpose of moving. Not necessarily progressing, it occurred to him. For, looking out at the infinite stretch of paved land, it never happened upon him that his car might reach some place.

It never hit him that, along the way, he might make detours. He would have never foreseen the gaping potholes and awkwardly placed bits of demolished tire. The ripped branches after heavy rainfall, or crossing dear. The toppled stop sign, roadkill, traffic jams. The sliding of ice over tar, beating of dry sun, hailing of dirty winds. It never occurred to him, these things. It never occurred to him back then, in that vessel, that his journey had a destination.

His journey had an _end. _

Their talk had been short that one evening in Bill's car, Dipper trying fruitlessly to steal himself in the mist of contorting guilt and misery. The rain had slowed, hot and clean with the sun as its backdrop. A few chitters against softened winds- cicadas- made the parking lot feel abandoned, save for the two men currently discussing trains; the undeniable power and speed behind a single locomotive, to which Bill had shown to be openly unimpressed.

He would untie Dipper from the railing, he had decided. Not out of kindness, but of parting. Something so sweet behind saving the same man he intended on ruining. The rush of self-satisfaction when Dipper would look at Bill, starved of compassion and kind, with admiration. Gratitude. Like fattening livestock through an extra portion of fresh oats. They'd suck it down without second thought, only eagre to gobble what came from farming hands, unknowingly stuffed day by day til it looked like they might burst.

They wouldn't so much as squeal then, lying fat on their side, spoiled rotten by generosity. Tail flicking, snout dug into a floor of hay, the creature may lift its head in anticipation for a second helping of wheat or grain. When the usual feeding bag in the farmer's hand is evidently missing, their heads would lower, long lashes fluttering shut in disinterest. To sleep away the extra fat around their midriffs, necks, and backs. Slowly- peacefully- farming hands would pull out a sharpened dagger, and with the smooth glide of silken blade, carve off a portion of the extra weight.

How pleasant, watching the creature eat from his hand. Munch, swallow, fatten. All the while its friends dwindled away, having been bigger than he. It would seem his only constant was the farmer, the barn, the cycling life and death of corn fields, and the odd _shing _of a sharpening blade. Animals know nothing more than their parameters, and no one else but each other. It's natural to trust the feeding hand. The harvester and his scythe, wacking away at stalks of tall, thriving wheat, orange sun drawing low with a tinge of lavender, hogs and cattle lounging about the farm, watching him work, oblivious to the second meaning behind the swinging scythe.

Bill would untie him from the railing, if only to lower his hand to Dipper's lips; watch those pink arches wrap around a handful of feed, and pet brown curls. Fingers trail plush cheeks, admiring those downcast lashes. Tilt his head by the chin and openly admit to interest. Pull the lips from his palm and instead resettle them against his own, soft to hard, cold to hot, dry to wet, while his other hand worked to fish the gun from his holster.

Because, after much convincing, Dipper agreed to his offering hand.

**Kill the conductor.**

_When? _

**Monday.**

_How? _

**Poison.**

_Bill, I don't think I can do this by myself. _

**You won't be.**

_You'll come? _

**Wouldn't miss it for the multiverse.**

_I… I don't know. What if something goes wrong?_

**It won't.**

_But, if it __does__._

**I'll take the fall for it.**

_No-._

**Yes**.

A pause.

_And, you'll be there for me? With me, I mean._

**'Course, pinetree.**

He shuffled, uncomfortable in his seat, unsure of the situation, lost to the weather, and oddly moved by it. Dipper's chin had lowered to his collar, bottom lip chewed, eyes drawn away, fingers picking at the underside of his nails, fighting the uncanny warmth beneath his chest and suddenly certain just why Bonnie had gone bad for Clyde.

_Why are you doing all this?_

And, just what Clyde's grin could hide. How those words could mean one thing, while saying something else entirely.

**I'm not letting you run from me, sapling.**

He placed an objectifying hand on Dipper's thigh.

**You're not getting away this time.**

Dipper heated. Bill chilled. The same sentence, different meanings. A hunter's oath. A lover's promise. Two very separate statements. So that when Bill was packed, seated in the passenger's side of Dipper's car, his language both spoke '_I want you' _and 'I'll kill you_' _in the same stanza. Both were oblivious to the other. When Dipper shook, it was in fear rather than anticipation, but really anticipation rather than fear. And Bill's love-lust to blood-lust, but vice versa in actuality. Both reading it wrong, and content in their misconception.

Only one thing rang true for them both. John had to go. A day's work in the lab got what they needed whipped together easily, and Dipper couldn't help but note how every magic potion happened to require an eye of newt. Every single one. He tried to focus on that, and not the ominous black smoke rising from the slender test tube, a puff of smog that looked comically like a skull before fading away. His partner, having strung together an incantation spoken just short of apathetic, lifted the container, swirled it about, checked the color, the smell, and held it to a light before proclaiming '_vuala!'_

Perhaps poison was the closest Dipper would get to a bouquet of roses, for as Bill knelt boastfully, presented the few drops of untraceable grime, an uncalled for song drew along his heart. Only a few seconds, before reality crashed over him, and he was washed away by uncontrollable grief and shame. For the better half of this instance, he was doused in appreciation for this dark act. A part in the murder of his assaulter. He took the contents in hand, glass both hot and cold between his fingers, and was overcome with mirth.

Only an instance, followed after by a crack in his grin, the loss of his gaze, and sudden lightheadedness. When he wobbled, he almost crashed to the floor, only to catch himself against a table. Dipper was quick to shove it back into Bill's hand, the simple '_you do it' _more than enough. A time would come for their plan, when the drinks would be poured, the vial uncorked, the family seated, and a simple toast in order, so as to sneak a few drops of death into John's cup. So he may slip away hours later, poison docile as a stocking lioness, poison searing through his lower abdomen just before bed.

It would look like a heart attack.

Dipper hoped.

The drive- ten hours, a stop for gas, snacks, and stretching- eventually led down the windy streets of suburban households. The same pristine white coats, coupled under matching red tiles, lined row upon row of maintained lawns. Cut grass. Pretty little mailboxes and the tiny string of vines curling along their poles. Sidewalks chalked, dry and close to catching fire under the baking sun of Cali. Some curtains drawn open; most closed with white linens of cheap veiling, interrupted only by peering eyes momentarially snatching apart fabric to view Dipper's vehicle.

Clean, untouched, and modern, he'd described it once to Pacifica in disdain. The neighborhood was estranged to him, he had discovered not long after returning as a teenager. So alien after months of roadkill county. Of splintered diners and rustic wear. Of pine-threaded bed sheets, wooden flooring, barefootedness, and overt, humble dirtiness. Piedmont felt obnoxiously respectable in comparison, he realized.

There was no fun to be had with their sprinklers, collared cats, leashed dogs, all eyes on whoever dared drive down the road without informing residents, in hopes of making them seem suspicious. '_Community watchers,_' Dipper's mother had deemed them almost dreamily, with a whimsical drift in her tone just short of commendation. '_They're called Karens, mom._' Dipper had laughed back, ducking quickly when she rose her arm, salad-tosser in hand, and flung the utensil at his head.

Things had been good back then. He couldn't deny it, nor could he regret the experience. Back in middle school, the scenes had been strung together day by day, starting with breakfast and ending with the harsh whisper of either parent trying to argue as quietly as they could. Even then, the evenings seemed nice. The home, content. Secure. Now, each memory came back in snippets- a piece of the whole. Not quite together, but somehow certain in its existence. Now still, seeing the drawn visuals of his past, Dipper couldn't help but think how much clearer things had looked back then. Not like now, muddled as dirty water.

Bill played with the window's control panel, flicking up and down, up and down, not giving a damn the sideways glances he got when, pulling a pack from his pocket and- gaze heavy and almost reluctant- drew with it a lighter. He pressed on the flint roller- fwoosh- leaned in and lit the tip, giving the jogging mid-lifers who covered their noses and mouths a cheeky grin, then a wink, and a chill down their spines.

"Close the window, Bill." Dipper snapped, almost paling as they passed a woman on an afternoon run, who visibly ducked the smog of his cigarette.

"Would you rather the car look like a hot-box?" His partner sassed back. He took another draw of his stick, held, rolled, and blew it at the sky like a chimney.

"Then put it _out, _jackass." His eyes challenged Bill sharply- scolding- before turning away to tally the house numbers. He'd been away long enough to forget which turns led where, and what landmarks determined the remaining seconds til home. Eight months, to be exact. Some time at the start of Hanukkah, when he dipped in to say '_hi_,' and left before they lit the menorah. John had been given the honor of lighting it that year, and Dipper's mother insisted on waiting for him to return home before they could go ahead with tradition. It had been just enough time to set his gifts aside, kiss mom, kiss Mabel, kiss his half brother and the few relatives he knew vaguely by name, before slipping out and driving ten hours back in a drowsed, shaken daze.

"You're no fun." Bill pouted. Not snuffing the cigarette out on the side of Dipper's car, as was usual. Instead, yanking it from his lips and tossing it near a child's chalk drawing; a mess of color, smears and strokes unidentifiable to all but the purest of youth. '_An explosion,_' adults would call it, only for someone much younger, much sweeter, to shake their head, bend, and correct '_No, Karen. __Kitty__._'

The action was obviously meant to upset Dipper, by the way Bill's arm flew towards it, fingers extended, eye trained on the sidewalk like a target. It became even more direct an attack when he turned from it, rolled up his window, and, expressing hostile exhaustion, remarked "_Happy _now?"

"Never." Dipper's car made one final turn.

As all others, the house was white. Pretty, red tiling for a roof. Freshly cut grass, regularly watered. A porch hooding the set of metal chairs seated underneath, as well as a quaint glass table near the railing. Small, dry work of a garden in the front. Peonies, marigolds.

Prickly.

Thirsting.

Dead.

A testament to the woman who sat indoors cooking and cleaning, but never sure of a hobby to fall back on, just as her other likewise housewives did. It would seem she tried, if not forcing herself, to build a lifestyle outside of raising children and organizing the silverware. Writing novels. Blogging. Partaking in a book club or two every once in a while, just to get that nagging Jenevieve off her back.

But, if Mrs. Miriam Pines was to be direct with herself- and she refused to be anything but- it would come as little surprise that she actually enjoyed it. The cleaning. The cooking. The raising. And considered those women who rushed for something to fill their time rather strange. No. Mrs. Miriam Pines. She _liked _doing the dishes, the laundry, the ordering. Because, much like her son, she found it gave her a sense of authority. She had that much more power over who lived in that house- under _her _roof- and found that chores gave her so much more than the satisfaction of a job well-done. It gave her _control_.

So, of course the lawn had been mowed and watered. Of course the minivan had been waxed. Of course the mailbox had a new paint job. The patio swept, and the glass door windexed. And, of course there was a '_do not walk on grass' _sign dug into the front, comically seated by a young, tan-skinned toddler currently crouched in the grass by Mabel, who held a bubble wand close to his lips so he might blow into it properly. Dipper's car pulled into the driveway, and both bodies, seated on the lawn, turned up to look at him. Mabel smiled weakly, lifting a hand.

The boy, bare feet planted, toes knitted in bits of wet grass, knees tucked to chin, drool rolling over lips when he tried blowing- dribbled, and only spat onto the wand- seemed to lighten when Dipper became properly parked. Even more, a tinge of curiosity brightened his eyes when he, very politely, very un-articulately, tugged on Mabel's yarn sleeve and inquired '_ah?'_ with a tilt. The boy's finger went up, pudgy but slimming, to address the mysterious man with a single eye. Mabel paled instantly, her weak toss-up of a wave suddenly dead in mid-air, before going limp, drifting and flopping across her lap when she noticed not only her twin in the driver's seat, but the dapper pirate in his passenger's.

He and Mabel's chests both heaved simultaneously when they discovered in perfect clarity that- yes- Dipper had for real, honest-to-God brought Bill along for the ride. And, if there weren't something far worse about to happen, perhaps he would have had the foresight to understand why that had been a very _bad _move on his part. Because, there were only so many things Mabel could make out of this picture now.

A simple, '_Mom. John. This is my boyfriend, Bill.'_

Her cheeks darkened, rose in color before outright blanching when they stepped out of the car. Again, the little boy pointed, _'ah'_-ed, and almost jumped with need-to-know anticipation at the handsome blond making his way towards Dipper's side.

"_Don't point, Tony._" Mabel hushed, pulling him to her lap with swift arms. Tony giggled, tossed about, only to wrap his arms around her neck and cuddle into it. His cheek mashed against Mabel's with endearment, his head resting as he watched closely how Bill placed an arm around Dipper's shoulder. And, after what looked like the smaller leaning into the touch, how he eventually shook it off and growled before shooting the two on the lawn a hasty glance. A look away- a step back- until blood flushed Dipper's cheeks, and he couldn't avoid his off-kilted greeting.

"H-_hey guys!_" His voice cracked, hand shooting for a confident wave, and missing by a mile. The little boy, Tony- age two, going on three- grinned with pearly white teeth, cooed, and pulled his arms from the older's neck to reach for him. Mabel pet his arms down, so he didn't grab, but dangled in her grip.

"You're... _here_." She spoke in pale mannerisms, rising from the grass with Tony holding on for dear life. The tight smile across her lips was all she could do to keep from exploding, in time with what little plastic joy could be squeezed into her tone. Mabel's eye twitched, an off center, heavy giggle seeping through her teeth. Her grip around Tony's torso grew almost bone-breaking. "_Both _of you…"

"Uh… Yup." Dipper laughed back as he rocked on his heels, caught his fist in hand, and looked literally anywhere else. "Thought it'd be nice to- you know… Introduce him."

"_Right._" Mabel's expression was unreadable, aside from the sensation of her skin physically holding back whatever sort of meltdown she was about to have. "It's just so… surprising_._"

"Well, I know how much you like surp-."

"Don't I?" She cut in, now hugging Tony in such a way it was borderline abusive. He started to whine, slapping the arms that held him frantically.

"Down!" Tony went. "Down! _Down!_" His little feet kicked out, and for a moment Mabel's features softened. She hissed, loosening her grip before looking back at Dipper with the same harsh, unforgiving expression.

"I haven't been this surprised since the divorce." And, that tight smile. Wasn't it just the worst? She laughed. Dipper tried to laugh, but failed. Bill definitely laughed, and by the way he clutched his chest and pinched the bridge of his nose, it was almost insultingly obvious how humorous the situation looked on his end. An elbow to his side had him fixing his act a bit, if at all. More likely, he couldn't risk missing another second of this train wreck. He cleared his throat, straightened, and outright _gestured _for them to continue.

For the very first time, Mabel saw exactly what Dipper was seeing in his partner. Her nose wrinkled in distaste, eyes hardening, lip snagging nastily. She huffed, though Bill didn't mind. Her body shifted to rearrange the child in her arms, but quickly came to realize how weighed down it all felt. A snap decision. A look across the street, at the house, her twin, and finally the blond in a suit.

"Bill, would you mind playing with Tony for a minute? I need to have a chat with my _brother._" Dipper's heart rose to his mouth, only to plummet and smash tail-first into his stomach. Mabel's gaze was still a slabbed wall that could only be described as '_are you shitting me right now?_' With just a dab of confusion. Tony went from around her waist to being held under either armpit, offered up to the patched man with an overtly half-assed smile. Bill took a step back, looked the kid up and down- grabbing for him, giggling in mid air, still gooey and drooling onto his trucker t-shirt- and made a disgusted expression.

"What is it?" Bill asked simply, to which Dipper's arm went up, slapping the back of his head. He sneered, giving the blond man an even nastier look.

"Our _half brother, _you jerk_._ _'It_.' Screw you." As quickly as Mabel and he had been on the same page of antagonising Bill, the toddler was handed off- Bill opting to tuck '_it' _under his arm like a football- and she dragged him to the side of the house, behind the minivan where no one could see them. Mabel peeked around only once- over the picket fence, around the corner, up, below the car- before finally exploding into a whispery fury.

"_What the H-E- double hockey sticks, Dipper? What the actual frick?"_ Her arms went out in a flurry of disbelief. Hands high, low, sliding down her face, before groaning into her palms.

"_I know. I know. Look, I didn't want him coming along either-."_

"_Then why is he __here__?"_

"_I couldn't stop him!" _Her eyes squinted, mouth molding into an 'O' from hearing his excuse.

"_Stop him? Stop him from what?! You __drove __him!"_

"_I know-."_

"_Dipper, you can't just bring him without telling anybody!"_

She gestured to Bill in the lawn, currently holding Tony by the ankle and poking at his potbelly like something curious. The boy's hair was flipped upside down, as the rest of him was, shirt slipping over his chin, arms dangling when his fingers worked to flick at grass blades and swing himself back and forth. A squeal was heard when Bill raised the boy to become eye-level with the other, Tony's face tilting sideways to have his image flipped right side up. He grinned at him. Bill, for once, did not return the offer, but instead squinted his eye in suspicion.

"_I get it. Look-."_

"_This was supposed to be an 'us' thing, man! I thought you came here to bond!"_

"_I did-!__"_

"_Why didn't you tell anyone? What's up with you just __not __telling people about this kind of stuff?"_ Her expression was hurt, but so was Dipper's now.

"_Jesus christ, Mabel! I get it. I can't make the situation any more fucked. I know." _He looked behind him, shooting Bill a cautious glance. He was far enough out of earshot to have it said without the other picking up on it, and by the time John was done and dead, what he was about to say would matter so little, it would only be inappropriate to cash in on any empty promises afterwards. Dipper turned back with a pleading look. Lost. Hopeful, but quickly losing face. He rode a hand through his hair. "_But-. God. I thought __you __of all people would have my back when I finally came out…"_

Dirty move. Very, very dirty move. But, he was desperate. And, it was _his _sexuality. Why _couldn't _he use it to get out of a pickle every once in a while? Just for now, with the way Mabel's expression stretched- stuttered- before softening into something just short of shame.

"_I-._" She began, only to whip her head around once more. On her tippy toes, over Dipper's shoulders, noting the way Tony pressed his fingers against Bill's eye patch- slow, hesitant-, only to dig his nails underneath, snatch it off, and gape at whatever he saw on display, before the older cursed and dropped the toddler. Mabel sucked in a breath, knit together her brows and shook her head. "_I __do.__ But-. Ugh, Dipper. This just-. Isn't it sort of bad timing? You know, with you and Wendy?"_

Dipper nodded, tossing a stalling glance over his shoulder. Bill slid across the lawn, Tony barely out of reach with a newly acclaimed eye patch wrapped around his forehead like a bandana. He'd be so close to being caught when- slip- roll- he was that much farther away.

"_...Yeah. But-._" He paused, gnawing on his lip. He could always sprinkle a bit of pizzazz into his fib. A tear here and there. Maybe a tremble of the lip. Whatever it took to get her off his back. "_If not now, when?"_

Dipper shrugged his shoulders, kicking some debris from the driveway. It rang true in his life, he knew. But, it was scary to think those words- that sentiment- didn't hold the same kind of weight on her end.

All fears were dashed when she, hesitantly, half-heartedly, shook her head, rubbed the back of her neck, and almost slumped against her mom's car. Mabel suddenly looked exhausted.

"_Dipper… Oh by god, you found love._" She covered her face and spoke through her hands. "_And it's like-. With a __guy, __and I'm happy for you, but-._" Her hands slid away. "_You really wanna come out for him that bad? __Why__?"_

He only huffed, let out a weak laugh and nudged Mabel's shoulder.

Bill and Tony were on the lawn now, huffing and sort of smiling, more on the toddler's end than any. The older extended a hand in truce, to which the child recuperated by returning his eye wear. Their hands lifted, lowered and released.

"_It's okay if you don't wanna back me up-."_

"_I'm __gonna __back you up, Dip. You know that. I'm just making sure you're __ready.__" _

A final look over his shoulder, like he was _really _taking in the site of his lovely 'boyfriend' currently offering his half-brother a cigarette.

Jesus, what had he gotten himself into?

Still, he pulled off a love struck gaze- fake, but annoyingly natural by the way his features eased into it, as though they made the expression often. When he turned back, he made sure Mabel could pick up on his '_lost in love, don't send for help' _vibes. His eyes became far-off, smile weak, twitching but present. He was a master at blushing, and so blood rushed in to make his cheeks rosie and ignorant. Dipper finally hummed at her, grinning ear to ear with what he hoped was longing.

"_I love him, Mabel._" Which was total bullshit. But he could get away with it.

Among other things.

"_You… __love __him?" _Dipper nodded his head vigorously, not missing the way Mabel's eyes widened at his confession. "_Oh my god, you __love __him…"_ Her fingers cupped the tip of her nose, and her lips curled up.

He thought he might puke if he had to say it again.

"_Yeah, so-. Don't give him any trouble, okay? He and I. We're-. Still figuring things out. I know I shouldn't have sprung it on everyone so out of the blue. It's just-. I'm just excited, I guess. Please don't be mad."_

Mabel paused. Cupped her face, tried to calm herself, only to fail miserably before sighing and collapsing to the floor. She knocked a fist against her forehead, mumbling like it was the hardest thing to comprehend. After a moment more of groaning and failing to think rationally, she stood, dusted herself off and visibly relaxed.

"_Fine. Love wins._" She sighed, throwing her hands up. But, there was still that look of strain along her features. "_But, you'd better work at it. All-_." She motioned to the space around him. "_This. You're a real mess, you know that?"_

Dipper couldn't help but agree.


	37. Miriam's Place

The group headed indoors, Mabel's hand pressed firmly against Dipper's shoulder, and Bill's leg dragging behind, weighed down by Tony, who found infinite fun wrapping himself around the older's calve, feeling the way he lifted, lowered and swung with each step. The blond kept a tight smile on his lips, if only to look his partner in the eye with the same level of smug, undaunting dominance by which he cared himself. On the inside, he was flaming. But, outside. Outside, he allowed the younger to cradle his foot like a rocking horse. Tony _got _to play with him, not against the demon's will, but because it was _bestowed _upon him.

A bit of drool from Tony's lips smeared onto his pant leg.

Bill did not like Tony.

Tony did, however, like Bill. Which was just the problem.

Dipper tossed a sliding glance at the two, and couldn't help but let his lips curl up at the sight of his one-eyed '_boyfriend' _subtly trying to shake the two year old from his leg. It went without results. Bill bit back a curse. Tried not to bend down and rip Tony from the cotton of his pants. Not to let his smile drop. To look at Dipper with a pleading '_Little help here?' _But, of course not. Bill was far too proud. He only straightened at his lover's gaze, tightening the grin on his lips despite himself.

Mabel took the lead, opening the porch's screen door to encourage everyone inside. Amazing how, even now, the place was as clean as Dipper remembered it. Eight months without visiting, and still the furniture was draped in dainty bits of decorative linen. The soft pink carpet of their youth was, as per usual, lying flat over the smooth wooden flooring of the living room. It was obvious their mother despised how it didn't quite fit the small area, forcing its corners to flip up and overlap.

So came a second room just right of it, in a far more open region of the house. Teal greens, soft blues, a white sofa and pretty coffee table. Thin, precise curtains that parted in favor of sunlight, cascading itself as though to admire their mother's favorite room. It was the outside coming in, Dipper thought. The neighborhood, with its perfect coats, and mailboxes, dogs on leashes, leashes on men, men on women, women on children- a constant cycle of restraint and desire to follow orders- coming in. It was a clean spot of the house, if not completely separate from what Dipper had grown up living in. Not comfortable. Not familiar. But still, a room he knew existed.

She'd refurbished it after the divorce.

A funny comparison, looking to the left of him and noting the flipped up carpet. The stained couch. The nostalgic photographs. It had been lived in, and could still be lived in now, with a splash of Danial and Mariam Pines all in one, when they'd joined forces to furnish it all those years ago. A stark contrast to the room just right of it, separated by a long wooden staircase leading to the second floor, where _Mariam's _living room sat. Just her's, as she had always liked it. None of Danial. None of her kids. All her, so that everything might look controlled and presentable for guests.

"_Oh_!" Came an intrigued tone from the nose of the second floor. The group's eyes trailed up the staircase to find a woman, tied in a pressed white apron, brandishing a broom, hair pinned high, with a mossy gaze. "You're _early_!" The brunette set her broom aside with a slight grin, if not a look of interruption, to make a quick descent. Her shoes '_tap tap tapped' _down the steps, giving Dipper only an instance to process the little pearls around her neck, white capris and beige polo neck, before her hands were on him.

She held him around the neck, humming before giving way to release. Her eyes were bright, lips spread wide in a picturesque smile, only to push Dipper at arm's length. "You're _too _early." She reprimanded, shooting him up and down with mirthy disapproval. "I told you to call me if traffic was good."

"Nice to see you too, mom." Dipper huffed with a tired grin. The woman tisked, balling her fists and placing them on either hip.

"The guest room isn't ready yet. I would've gotten to it sooner if I'd known how on-time you'd be." Miriam mumbled. She cupped her cheek in hand, mouth scrunching and nose twitching in irritation. "You really _should _have told me." She pressed. Dipper only brushed the comment aside. He knew his mother too well to fall for her guilt-trips. It didn't honestly bother her as much as she made it out to. It only satisfied her when others were forced to acknowledge how much cleaning she did around the house, and how little they all did by comparison.

"I thought I'd surprise you." Miriam clicked her tongue, fists pressing more firmly into her hips.

"You know how much I hate surprises." She remarked in a playful, partly-true tone. Dipper would have laughed, if not for the cruel, macabre of its origins.

In that case, she'd hate the surprise he'd brought for John.

She would _hate _it.

Instead, Dipper smiled; ducked his head and pet his hair down, subtly avoiding her gaze.

"Sorry." He told her. "I'll give you a head's up next time." Like that, her air of plastic-inconvenience lightened and became breathable again. Miriam's smile grew a quarter inch toothier, crossing the wide road of similar features she and Mabel shared. Just a moment; an instance of flitterish warmth before her eyes reset themselves in alert absolute. No, no. They were too different. Too separate. Miriam had given up long ago, trying to impose on her wayward daughter's expressive nature.

"_Good_." Dipper's mother chirped, placing a dainty hand against his cheek. Her smile dampened as his eyes rolled up to view her. His lips were hers, with that cute cupid's bow in the curve of his mouth. As were his cheeks and chin. Along his hairline, he had the ghost of a widow's peak, just as she, and beautiful, full sets of eyelashes. Miriam could only wish her son would resemble her, and her alone. There wasn't a thing in that house that prided her more than her children's striking resemblance to their mother. Still, Dipper's eyes had always been a shade too perceptive for her taste. He looked just a percentage too much like his father, if only in his gaze. Miriam pursed her lips.

"You look tired." She remarked in curt honesty.

"I _am _tired." Dipper laughed, rubbing his neck.

"Well, you shouldn't be. Did you read that article I sent you on sleeping cycles? It says you shouldn't have screen time an hour before bed because of the-."

"The blue light. I know."

"It suppresses melatonin levels." Miriam warned.

"I know, mom. I know." Her hand slid from his cheek, going now so her arms would cross.

"If you know so much, why are you still so _tired_?"

Because he'd been up nights on end trying to figure things out.

Because he'd spent a week's wage on drinks at the bar every month for the past two years.

Because he'd been living it up at some one-eyed beauty's apartment, doing anything _but _sleep.

Because of the horrible, treacherous nightmares he'd been having on a consistent note for almost a month and a half now.

Because he felt undeniably guilty, and he couldn't stomach sleep at the risk of falling apart within his own subconscious.

Dipper smiled.

"Work's been kicking my ass." He shrugged, unable to avoid his mother's swatting hand.

"What have I told youabout cursing in the _house_?" Her arm went out, tapping him brutishly about the shoulder. "I raised you better than that, Mason."

An unprecedented gasp struck a line through their conversation, alerting Miriam to the unfamiliar tone seated at the mouth of her home's entryway. Her gaze was calculated, pinning the voice within an instance of revealing itself; snapping free of Dipper's tired, weak grin in favor of trailing back to find a tall, slender youth standing casually at the door. Too casually, she decided, in his dapper apparel, sleazy grin and slicked hair, with little Tony slung over his shoulder like a potato sack. The child would be only inches from sliding his tiny digits under the groomed blond's eye patch when- _tap- _his hand was dusted away.

His greedy smile was nothing short of unnerving.

"_Mason, _you say? Finally, a name with some class!" Bill chortled, preening at what he considered outright flattery. It was touching. Truely, it was.

Miriam took a step forward- one back- before shooting her son an odd look. Something that bordered honest inconvenience. She really _didn't _like surprises. And here, standing before her, was an extra mouth to feed, an added guest room, and twice the required hospitality for a non-family member. Her lower back became a bit hard, lips cracking into woeful tightness when she coughed up a smile, shoulders rolled back, and took a passive step in his direction. Not before setting her son with a far less pleased expression.

"He was named after my grandfather." Miriam led her words quaintly. Not gritty like her red lipstick, or broad like the taut pink of her skin. Pleasant, as all good liars were."He was a proud FreeMason in his hayday." Bill's stretching cheeks looked close to splitting at her almost braggish tone, held off only by Miriam's poorly cloaked annoyance. Any other day, she would have become twittery if handed the opportunity to describe what was probably a long, devastatingly influential family history of passed down secrets, fraternity memoirs, and the presence of their speculated relation to the illuminati.

Bill wasn't sure Dipper could look an ounce more appealing than he did now, outright branded in legal print like property. And, to whom exactly?

_Bill_, of course.

"I don't think my son told me about you. Are you a friend?" Miriam Pines continued. Her hand went out to hover, not reach. She held it firm for her guest to grab, shake and introduce. Bill did so, just as practiced. Just as poised. Perhaps a bit haisty, diving for it as quickly as a nubile brunette on his queen-sized. He'd developed a recent hankering for handshakes.

"You might say that." Bill led on coyly, notwithstanding a quick, leering jab in Dipper's direction, who grew pale at the subtle allusion. Before he could work his way to cut in, Cipher was taking a single step further. "He and I are _very _close." His grip tightened, released, and went to seat itself in the depths of a cotton pant pocket.

"_Oh_?" Miriam turned back to her son with a query expression. Dipper was efficient about jumping to fill in the blanks.

"_Co-worker._" He croaked. A bit too fast. He tried for a more casual approach in response to Miriam's balanced gaze. He cleared his throat. "He was just recruited this summer as a _temporary _partner." He emphasized not to his mother, but to Bill. His partner smiled and blew a kiss in Dipper's direction, just out of Miriam's view. "We've been really busy with our most recent case, so I thought I might bring him along to get things finished up."

"So, you brought work?" That question was anything but. It was disinterest. It was hesitation. It was annoyance. Dipper tried to counter Miriam's quirked brow with raised, flailing hands. He broke out in a crooked, cracked smile- the one that'd always reminded her of Daniel.

"What? _No, no, no, no, no_! It's just-. He and I-. Isn't this easier? I-. It wouldn't have been good to miss work." Her expression hardened, focus chilling.

"You brought work then." She replied. Not questioning this time. Instead, to announce the crime of his actions. Dipper felt much smaller, curling his lips in at the sight of his straight-backed, traditional mother. Who hated inconveniences. Hated excuses. Hated surprises.

And somehow found the time to reprimand every infraction.

The two seconds she spent shooting him through the veins with blatant disamusement seemed lost upon the three distance party members, who simply stood and observed. Tony had made his way down the side of Bill's waist coast, hanging now onto the flaps of Cipher's clothing, kept steady by his tippy toes as he looked up and grinned. The adult placed his cold, tan hand across the boy's face and nudged Tony towards the floor, until his bare feet set flat against oak paneling, and the child could do no more than fight against the hand and try for another feel at what looked to be the same fancy fabric of his mother's favorite dress; she would never let him touch anything so extravagant, though. Not like Bill. Tony liked Bill.

Mabel had slipped off to the side, a few feet at best from the entryway, but farther still in focus where she'd placed herself in the living room to the left. It had been an unspoken rule to leave everything untouched, even after the divorce. In which case, Mabel wasn't so much in the cozy interior of her childhood home, as an intact reminisce of her past adolescence. Her hands remained cupped behind her back, rocking on the balls of her feet, admiring the stiff, white-clothed family photo Miriam had forced the family along for.

Two or three years before Gravity Falls, and lightyears from the current moment spent knowing what would come after. It was a large, tacky picture. The kind of clean perfection she and Dipper could never live up to, and the kind of high-end suburban normality Miriam craved in her orderly demeanor. But, aside from the blatant white patch of fabric taped over Daniel Pine's face, removing him from an otherwise family-like scene, Mabel decided it was a nice picture. It was something she could accept as real.

"Yeah… I guess so." Dipper admitted finally, too exhausted to give anything but defeat. He couldn't risk throwing every ounce of energy out for what was to come. He'd have to preserve himself. That was all it took for Miriam to let out a heavy breath through the nose, pat his cheek and turn to face Bill.

"I hope you don't mind rooming with my son. I'm afraid I don't have any other beds, unless you would prefer the couch." Her head tilted to the right, a nearly prideful glow to her cheeks when given the chance to direct Bill's attention to the most picturesque part of the house. It had a very nice-looking couch on display. Not like the flat, cardboard stiffness at his own place. Something you might find in a mancave, if not for the pristine white, and a sturdiness about the cushions, as though no one ever sat on them. He was anything but intrigued by the offer.

"I don't mind at _all, _Mrs. Pines. It'd be an honor to bunk with your son, in fact." The look on his face seemed to say all that needed to be said for everyone already in the know. To Miriam and her small son alone, did it look Bill may simply be eccentric. A few characters too odd to pass as charming, but not too unhinged to come off as cryptic or malice. Instead, exciting. A bit strange, but nothing so unordinary that he couldn't mold into society.

But of course, Tony was too young to know better, and Miriam would give any dapper male a small pass if they looked the part. Should they appear even half-way important, if only by looks, she would bow her head just a little more. Even the shifting gaze of paranoia wouldn't tip her off if the right watch was matched with the right dress pants.

A distracting kiss on the lips, even though her son was calling her cell, by a man who could do his hair with just enough gel, was able to wrap his hand around her wrist, slide the phone from her hand, and send it to voicemail without so much as a fuss.

She wouldn't so much as bat her eye if he, very slimily, very creepily, informed her that Dipper was now calling _him- _had asked for a ride home- if his dress shoes had been polished the night before by his own hands.

Wouldn't even flinch if he pecked her lips, promised to be back 'soonish,' and headed upstairs, supposedly to grab his car keys, if it meant he knew how to wear a tie.

Press in cufflinks.

How many unbuttoned buttons were sexy on a dress shirt, and how many were tacky.

How to measure for his jacket size.

She could always overlook it.

Even when she saw him in his car, after getting what he _assured _was a ring of keys, holding up a compact bottle of lube near his face, and admiring the way the sunlight reflected off of it.

Miriam could overlook the slight probability that John wasn't headed to pick up her son, but was in fact headed to another woman's home, if he looked to be even half the gentleman he promised he was.

The reality of the situation hadn't prompted itself.

"Please, please." Miriam cooed at Bill in her world-class hostess voice, though the strain behind it was apparent to all. "_'Pines'_ was my ex husband's last name. Just Miriam's fine. And you are?"

"Bill." He began, catching himself smoothly before _'Cipher' _could slither its way up his throat. He was coy enough to go without stuttering at what would've been a massive fuck-up. Instead, he took the second of pause as a moment to soak up the glory that was _his presence_. Miriam saw it as poise, if not admirable pacing on his part. Dipper rolled his eyes. "Bill Angle." He finished with a grin.

Miriam was a bit more charmed now, previous inconvenience suddenly overshadowed by the jarring eloquence by which he introduced himself. She didn't often come across men who might say their first name twice, and last once. It was a bit fancier than she'd prepared for, and so was left vulnerable to the effect of his suit, tie, and well-polished shoes.

"It's very nice to meet you, Mr. Angle." Again, she held out her hand. Again, they shook. This time, a bit different. This time, welcomed. And she, caught off guard by his daunting grace, didn't so much as register the hungry look he'd shot Dipper when warning him that Bill was an '_active sleeper_.' A cloaked _'wink_,' interrupted only by Mabel as she cleared her throat.

"If it gets to be too much, I can always share the guest room with Dipper, so you can have a bed for yourself." Mabel offered. Well, _threatened_. Cutely, no less. And so, so generous-sounding. If Bill didn't know her warped mind better, he might have missed the edge in her tone.

"Oh, _no. _Don't worry about it. I wouldn't feel comfortable taking a lady's room." Miriam put a hand to her chest, and Dipper could almost swear she was asking God to pledge '_that wholesome gentlemen_' to her out-of-control daughter. He thought he might get sick if he lamented on the idea any more than he already had. "Besides." Bill went on. "I don't sleep nearly as well alone."

"I'm _sure _you don't." Dipper spat, and somehow _that _was what alerted Miriam to any kind of sexual innuendos.

"_Mason."_ She didn't shout, but it was so abrupt, the surprise of her stern tone made up for it. "Not. In the _house. _Understand?" Miriam pointed, smile cracking under the slight mortification of what looked to be her dear, intelligent son making a vulgar remark. Dipper didn't so much as nod his head at her cold tone. Only looked away, sighed, before turning back when her eyes were off him, to badger Bill with a nasty scowl. "I'm sorry about him." She apologised.

"Oh, it's alright. I don't mind." Mabel and Dipper both rolled their eyes at him, and it felt as though something had connected between the two. However, where as the moment had started, it had also ended in simultaneous avoidance, when they turned to smile at each other and remembered the strain in their relationship. They looked away. One in resistance. The other in shame.

"Are you sure?" Miriam asked, stretching her tone. "I could always move Mason to the couch if you don't feel like sharing a room."

"_Mom-_!"

"No, no, no. That's alright. Wouldn't want to inconvenience my partner, after all." Tony wrapped his entire body around the older's arm, clinging to him like a monkey. Bill's body became a bit tilted, but not an inch out of posture. "Besides, I always _liked _the mouth on your son."

Somehow, that flew over her head.

"Well, I don't know where he gets it from. He's been like that since he went to live with his father."

"I'll bet you're the better influence, then." And the sheer _glow _of her features. Dipper could have honestly disintegrated. Miriam laughed- with composure, of course- keeping herself occupied just a fraction of a scene by dusting the stray dirt from her apron, pulling a tuft of hair behind her ear, and sculpting out her most generous, most appealing grin. She was weak to flattery, after all.

"Would you like a tour of the house?" Miriam offered. By the way she asked, it might have been the taj mahal. From how clean she kept things, it wouldn't have been too far-fetched to believe she valued it just as such. She was prideful of her work. Just like her son, Bill noted. She had her work; her space. Miriam took joy in the pinpointed spot of Piedmont, where she cupped her hand and the whole house seemed to fit. Where she had control. Where she had order.

"That sounds _fantastic-!_" Bill had readied himself with a hand-full of preordained remarks to flatter her. Just to get under Dipper's skin, so he might hear later down the road what a charmingly exceptional man his partner was. Now, wouldn't _that _be the icing on the cake.

Tony had other plans, though.

"No!" Tony went, yanking on his dress shirt. "No, _no!_" Bill sighed, looking down at him.

"What is it, kid?" He kept his tone light, hoping to refrain from leaving the observant woman with a bitter taste. Would she admire if he was good with kids, or prefer a more serious, stubborn gentleman? He couldn't wage the matter, and so decided to play on both ends.

Tony just jumped, bouncing on his feet and repeated. "No! No, no, no!" He pointed at his mom. Then, up the stairs. Sticking his tongue out, he made an openly distraught expression. Bill only sighed, looking away from the toddler. He _really _didn't like kids.

"Now! _Now!_" Tony finally said, in a slurred, drooling manner that gave the impression of fighting against his own tongue. He yanked on Bill's sleeve, making the grown man sigh.

"What do you _want_?" Tony kept bouncing. His little hand went up, a pudgy finger pointed at him. The little boy pointed to his own mouth, then his stomach, and finally the home's wooden door.

"Now! Now!" He said again. Bill looked as though a light bulb had gone off in his head, and he began to feel very tired.

"_Now?_" Bill asked. Not questioning its meaning, but the simple disdain of '_why__ now?'_

"Now!" Tony confirmed.

"Geez, kid. You're runnin' me ragged here." He drove a hand through his hair, giving himself a disheveled look. He sucked in a breath, clenched his one eye, before opening it back up to address Miriam. "There wouldn't happen to be a grocery store around here, would there?" Bill asked crossly, the weak smile on his lips finally waving aside.

"Oh-. Uh… Yes." She began, only to turn towards the glossy staircase of oak. "Would you like me to show you _after _the tour?" Tony's chant grew louder.

"_Now, now, now, now!"_ Bill groaned.

"Maybe another time. I forgot I've got something to _buy_." He shot Tony a dirty look. The child looked back with euphoria.

"_Yeah_!" He went, raising his arms. Tony tried to clamber atop the older, only to be nudged off. "Come!" He continued. "I come, too!" He began to wrap his arms around Bill's leg. The man grabbed him though, holding him off in mid air and raising him from the floor.

"Not a chance, kid." Like that, he handed the toddler off to Dipper, who was more than a little confused at Bill's sudden change in demeanor. Tony '_aw'_ed sadly, not that the blond cared. He was waved off as the man, very quickly, very efficiently, shoved a hand down Dipper's back pocket- cold. Dipper's body ran very cold- and fished out the car keys. "I'll be back." He began, making it as far as the porch before his path was cut in by his partner, still holding on to the young child.

"Whoa, hey. Where are _you _going?" Dipper asked. "What about-" He shut the house door behind him, effectively blocking the two women's curious glances. "The- the plan?"

"Jesus, kid. I'm not going out for _milk_. I'll be back before you get a chance to miss me."

"What are you going out for?"

Bill shot Tony a nasty look- sneered- and leaned in on Dipper.

"_This is why I don't deal with __kids_." Nothing more than that. He simply stepped back, bound down the steps, and slid in the passenger's side of the car. He buckled himself in, only to weigh the toddler in Dipper's arms with a heavy glance. One Tony met with interactive fun and excitement. Bill's hand went up, fingers pressed tightly to one side of his lips, before sliding to the other edge with a zipping motion. He flicked his fingers, like throwing away the key, making Tony giggle and mimic the motion. The car sat in the driveway only a moment longer until he finally snorted, snapped on the engine and drove off.

"Yeah, yeah!" Tony cheered, watching the car mosey down the street, hit a turn and disappear. "Go! Go!" He continued. Dipper looked down at the toddler in his arms, currently cheering, clapping and drooling over his trucker shirt collar.

"Go where, Tony?" He lifted the child a bit, so their eyes would meet. Dipper, if he was quite honest, hated how he had to dumb his speech for the child to understand. Not 'Where's Bill going?' Instead, 'Go where?' Because for some reason, it didn't connect otherwise. Tony continued to clap his hand.

"Store!"

"For what?" Dipper picked at the base of Tony's shirt, using the tip to rub off lingering dribble. Miriam had expressed before her concerns of his excessive spittle. But, it couldn't be helped. He would learn, Dipper had assured her before. She just couldn't let it go, though. She couldn't let it go.

"Ice cream!"

"..._Why_?" The spit he'd rubbed away was quickly replaced with another two lines on opposite corners of the mouth. Dipper sighed, dabbing away once again.

He recalled one particular moment in his own life when he too couldn't help but be this young. Couldn't help but be a child, with things that simply weren't teachable at his age. When he'd run through the living room spotted in mud, and Miriam all but collapsed, screaming and crying over her new tiling. And his father had told Dipper to wash up, and Miriam to calm down. But she'd been in such hysterics, all she could manage was to yank out a mop, push about the mud, before throwing the stick aside and outright howling in distress. When Daniel had tried to comfort her, it was met with a piping hot coffee mug targeted for his head. He'd almost laughed then, remarking how her aim was getting better.

She hadn't found it nearly as amusing.

"_Secret_." Tony whispered, placing a finger over his lips. At that, Dipper smiled. He leaned in a bit, until their foreheads bumped against each other. The younger noted bits of raised skin on his older brother's, and closed his eyes for just a second, making a mental trace of Ursa Major. He'd always wanted one for himself, going as far as tracing a duplicate on his stomach.

"Secret? From _me_?" Dipper asked. Tony nodded, a bit guilt stricken.

"Mmhmm."

"Even from your big brother?" The child paused then, placing his small fingers across his lips. He pressed a finger to the corner of his mouth, and looked as though to search for the metal flap of his zipped lips. When he supposedly found it, he pinched his fingers, pulling the imaginary restraint in an opposite direction.

"'_Zip.'_" Tony said, unclasping his lips. He smiled, leaning further in on Dipper, cupping his mouth behind his hand. "_Don't tell._"

Dipper laughed, tilting his head to catch the tail end of Tony's low voice. Well, whatever he knew that Bill didn't want _others _to know what probably a beautiful secret. How he'd found dirt on him so easily, Dipper couldn't fathom. He could only work out a wave of admiration for the little guy, far more than was appreciated at his age.

"_I won't."_ He whispered back, zipping his lips and flicking the key. Of _course _he would. If it was good, at least. And, it had to be good, didn't it? Bill wasn't so weak he'd do some kid's bidding without cause. He was on his way to buy a tub of _ice cream, _just to keep Tony's mouth shut. Now, that. That was a beautiful thing.

Tony leaned away, giving a stern look in either direction. Checking to see if the coast was clear. Dipper had to stifle a laugh, keeping his features as serious as the two year old's, currently about to spill the beans. Tony ducked his head, covering his mouth with shining eyes.

"_I saw." _He said finally, followed by a giggle. His little hands went up, '_kekeke'_ing at something both hilarious and completely new to a child at his age. Dipper bounced him up in his arms, so Tony's body didn't slip through his arms. Once his grip was back in place, he gave the kid a confused look.

"Saw? Saw what?" Dipper asked, cocking his head. Tony mimicked, his black hair falling to the left, just as Dipper's brown curls did. He giggled again, putting either hand over his mouth. He put a single finger out, drawing it out to point at his eye.

"I _saw!_" He repeated, far more excited.

"What? With your eye?"

"No, no!" His finger tapped just under the lid, pulling all attention to his brown orb. "Saw. _Saw!_" Tony covered his entire eye then, only to lift it up. "It! I saw!" Dipper took a moment to decipher his little brother's words, as well as his actions. He watched the way Tony repeatedly covered and uncovered his little eye, and suddenly Dipper got it.

"Ooooh. You saw Bill's eye? Under the eye patch?" Tony, of course, had no idea what an '_eye patch'_ was, but he was sure enough Dipper got the idea.

"Yeah! Yeah, I saw!" He started bouncing in Dipper's hold, pointing at his own eye with exhilaration.

"Oh, yeah Tony. That's cool." But, it really wasn't. It certainly wasn't _blackmail. _If anything, it was just more proof Bill was undeniably, outrageously obsessed with himself. He'd go so far as to _bargain _with a child if it meant keeping what he saw under wraps. But, what was the big secret? Everybody knew what was under it. Dipper became a bit annoyed, thinking about it. Of course, the guy he liked was also a raging narcissist.

"Cool! Real cool!"

"I'll bet it was gross, huh?" He offered, if only to get the satisfaction of knowing _someone _thought it was. It felt like everyone Dipper introduced Bill to found the asshole _charming_. Which couldn't be true in his universe. It couldn't be.

"Nu-uh." And, there went that hope. Dipper sighed. "_Kitty eye_!" Tony continued.

"What?" Dipper asked with a laugh, cocking his head in the opposite direction. Once again, Tony copied.

"Kitty eye! Kitty eye!" He pointed at his own eye again, covered it, uncovered, and smiled. "He had one. He's a _kitty_!"

Dipper paused.

Looked down the road Bill had driven.

Lifted a finger at it and smiled. Tony wouldn't know what giving the finger meant anyways. He could get away with it.

"That's right, Tony. Bill's a real cat."

At least _someone _in his family thought he was a pussy.

He turned around and headed inside.


	38. Heavy

Miriam Pines prided herself on maintaining a clean home. So much so, it was almost in her nature to point out when something was askew in a friendly hostess' own. The messiness could be as nanoscopic as the outwardly turned zipper of a cushion cover. And Miriam, though biting her tongue, would always seat herself on the flipped furniture, graze a finger over its metal teeth; all the while pretending to engage in whatever meaningless drabble her female friends longed to settle for- a widely shared novel, gossip, gardening cheats- but wanting desperately to grab the cushion by either side, lift it, fluff and flip the molded pillow so that its zipper faced inwardly.

As it was built.

As was meant to be.

She was very, very tidy.

It came as little surprise then, when Tony led Dipper up the steps of his childhood home- on all fours, with pudgy smacks of his soft, tan fingers- to find the brunette's old bedroom had been transformed into a designated _'playpen_.' The kind with multi-colored shelves used to categorize plastic foods from miniature trucks, from wooden blocks, from half-humanoid figurines, from stuffed animals, from arts and crafts. With a psychological ring of caution tape wrapped around the outlining of the room. Stepping in meant the allowance of a very controlled, very _small _mess. Stepping out meant the full submergence of tidiness. It meant back to order. Back to organized. Back to clean.

Tony, being the light toddler he was, simply took his mother's obsessive scrubbing as another aspect of adulthood he was yet to understand, instead of the glaring character flaw it was. He only obeyed her, as all good little boys do. Took off his shoes before entering the playpen. Readied a puzzle-piece foam mat with the common print of a little town and its streets. Placed it over the floor almost ceremoniously. Rehearsed. Like tucking in his shirt, or wiping his mouth with a napkin- a bit cleaner. A bit uncharacteristic of a child.

Once the mat was laid out, Dipper watched with half-curiosity as Tony stood, dusted himself off, looked over the simple foam mat, and let out a thoughtful hum. His pudgy hand went to his chin, giving a thoughtful look that was, in reality, not at all thoughtful. It was a practiced expression he'd seen on television. Some way's wedged between what his mother sat him in front of, and whatever John let him view as long as he swore not to tell Miriam. Far too animated a look when he stroked his chin for stubble that didn't exist. And squinted his eyes. And took wide, outturned steps along the foam mat's border.

"Something wrong?" Dipper snorted, shoulder pressing into the door's frame. He watched, mirth in his gaze, as Tony traced the mat's printed map from Main St. to Yellow Rd, one tiny hand on his hip, and pulled a face that was perfectly pretend.

"Uh-huh." Tony noted simply, scratching his head. Dipper snorted again.

"Yeah? What?"

"Ta-fic." The younger remarked, after which he tutted his tongue in dismay.

"_Ta-fic_?"

"Yeah." Tony lamented, puckering his lips. "Big ta-fic." He pointed down the mat, citing the path from Mole Rd, straight through the heart of town, coming to wrap around at Martha St. The little one shook his head, both hands on his hips now, and looked amazingly distraught. "See?"

Dipper stepped away from the door, letting it shut behind him so he might get a better look at where the child pointed. And of course, the mat was spotless. Even then, when Tony pointed along the roads, he made sure to keep his bare feet off of its resilient surface. Only leaned in and pointed. Dipper did likewise, a short distance from the roads, sure his mother would throw a fit if anything in the playpen was a mess.

"Ta-fic?" He asked again, observing the roads.

"Yeah. Ta-fic jam. Tha's bad."

"Really? Why do you think that?" Dipper offered back. He crouched, taking forced interest in the exterior of the tiny town and its names. As per usual, Miriam wanted her traditional alone-time with Mabel, which entailed lecturing, advicing, and an outright plee to '_come back to Piedmont, love. It's so much nicer in Cali.' _Which roughly translated to '_I hate lying to my friends about where you live. It'd be far easier if you would just drop everything and sport a casual suburban lifestyle, just as I'd hoped you would.'_ Something Dipper was sure to get an earful of when his turn came up.

But for the time, he was on Tony-duty.

"Just 'cause." Tony shrugged. "Dad hates ta-fic. Don't like cars."

"_Yeah_." Dipper remarked sharply. The way his mouth dried just from hearing _little kids _refer to John as '_dad' _was anything but good. He tried to bypass anything to do with the subject of conversation. Instead, he stuck his finger out, quick to address the streets of Tony's mat. "Does this road have traffic?"

"Yup."

"What about this one?"

"Yea."

"And over here?"

"No. _Tha' _one has a tiger. See?" The toddler gave a fleeting point towards Peach lane, only to turn on his heels and rip open one of his color-coated drawers. He came back after a moment of rummaging with a tiny plastic goat in his hands. Tony plopped it down, and that was that.

"Well, which roads aren't jammed?"

"None." He replied, arms crossed. "Too much ta-fic."

"How are you gonna drive home, then?" Dipper laughed, leaning onto his elbow. He was still a hair's distance off the mat, just as Tony was, his body made solid so he wouldn't tip onto any streets.

The younger man pondered his question. Real, honest thoughtfulness this time, which looked far different from his other pose. His lower lip was poked out, eyes snapped shut, left hand on his cheek, right snaking its way up to wipe his dripping nose. Tony's head leaned one way, then the other. He curled his toes in, let them rest, before flexing out onto the oak flooring. The boy hummed in high tempo. Low. Varying in length and rhythm until- suddenly- his eyes were flying open. Mouth ajar, arms shooting up, legs jumping out below him as he took to catching air.

"Fly!" Tony cheered, head tilted high, looking at nothing, seeing no one, but imagining everything in perfect clarity.

"_Fly_? Do you have a jet?" There was a kind of warmth that came from picking at a child's brain. Very soft and new, the way Tony's eyes lit up at Dipper's suggestion.

"Yeah! Yeah!" The little one turned, once again going to extract some toy from his stash. Better not for Dipper to worry about his small, impressionable sibling and the way- despite being excited to play- Tony closed each drawer after opening one. Or the fact that he saw things out of place, and transferred one to another box, already sure of its direction. Or how he was even able to stop- duck his head- and make vague note of each box's labeling to verify he was looking through the right basket.

Or the fact that Tony was only two and, although being a colorful, accelerated young man, still had it in him to work purely within the guidelines of his mother. Dipper tried not to notice. The little boy shot his hand in, only to pull out a bright green toy truck.

"What do you have there, Tony?" A question to which the older already had an answer.

"A _jet." _An answer to which the younger only imagined was correct. And one which, no matter the actual title of his toy, would in no way hinder him from cutting the truck through air, circle the corners of his mat, and pretend to soar above traffic. Tony was happy to believe his truck was a jet. Dipper was happy to let him.

The elder observed patiently, arm slung over Tony's organized shelves, as the green vehicle nose-dived- came up- spun around and repeated each action in clunky patterns. He let a little smile stretch against his lips, despite the growing dessert of skin drying his mouth. Dipper was sure to remain calm now. Watch Tony. Tilt his head every so often to peer out the bedroom's window. Wonder when Bill would be back. _If _he'd be back. Which he surely would be…

But, Dipper could never be certain.

While Tony made yet another decent- blowing raspberries in imitation of a jet engine; drool sliding from his lips- Dipper made quick work of checking his phone:_ No new messages_. Which wasn't a bad thing. Wasn't a good thing, either. Just something else. Dipper looked at the time; a quarter till six.

Exactly when had Bill left?

Exactly when would he be back?

He bounced his leg, scratching his neck. Dipper's eyes _almost _looked towards the door, but he stopped himself. Not so he wouldn't be tempted to leave. The opportunity to disappear hadn't been an option since arrival. No. Dipper kept his eyes trained anywhere but the exit in hopes of restraining some coincidental pull in the universe. As though, when his gaze finally came up, measured itself, adjusted to the change in perspective, _that _would be the universe's que.

Things worked by rhythm. The world spun on an axis of stage direction. A finger point. The switching tempo of an orchestra. Change in light and scenery. It all determined when and how. Something as simple as glancing at the door could mean so much more, and it terrified Dipper to think he played that sort of a role in the game. He could stay still, though. He could wait it out.

If his eyes never went up, would John never surface?

A single ding from his phone. Dipper dove for whatever it was, hoping to dispel the strung alarms of his brain. His shoulders rolled back, bunched, and softened by the snapshot depicting a quart of strawberry ice cream and the chummy note to 'sit tight.' Which he would do. He would definitely do it, now that Bill was telling him to. It was infinitely easier that way, waiting now with an _objective _to relax. An _order. _It was so much easier to calm down when the act was required. And, maybe Bill knew that.

Whether or not that be the case, Dipper didn't care. It was warming either way, getting the message. It was sweet, reading those words. Despite Bill being a literal omen of chaos and distortion, for a pitifully brief second, Dipper's heartbeat both slowed and raced with those words. '_Sit tight._' Okay, he wanted to reply, but couldn't seem to break from the image sent (a golder wisp of skin had been captured, wrapped securely around the tub of frosted wet-strength paperboard) long enough to respond. His eyes traced the outlining of Bill's nails, the webbing that connected thumb to index, the tendon flexed through his knuckle.

Dipper allowed himself a smirk. Only a smirk. Then a closer look. A slight zoom in. A smile. Marvelled at how the grocery store's lights bounced off his lover's skin, and felt amazingly proud of it. Imagined something domestic. Some warped, alternate dimension in which Bill wasn't Bill. Or, _was _Bill. Some strange, normal Bill, with a basket slung around his arm, and Dipper's waist pulled in by the other. Which was silly. And impossible, considering who his lover _was. _Still, it didn't keep the brunette from fantasizing about that hand around his waist. Not groping for body; skin. Just to be close. Just to hold something he valued, and breathe it in with admiration.

He actually _laughed _at the idea, only to shoot himself with lines of discouragement in how sad it really felt; his fantasy was far more than Bill would ever bargain for. He deleted the photo and left the blond on read for good measure. He didn't care for him enough to reply. He didn't care enough to admit anything. Beg for it. Want, and want more, to be wrapped up in those golden arms. Held in a way that wasn't firm or threatening.

There, seated on the floor of his childhood room, noting the changes in order, the misplacement of where his drawers once were, his bed, his shelves- like his presence hadn't only been chased off, but completely erased by John. As though conceiving Tony was in some way a ploy to replace him. To bar him from who he once was, and how he once felt, and what he once hoped in. Punishment for rejection.- Dipper couldn't help but feel his skin burn for something to wrap around him.

"Wanna fly too?"

Dipper was so caught up in his own thoughts, he hadn't even registered Tony's presence before him. He held the green truck out to the elder, smiling passively.

"Heh. That's okay." Dipper's hand patted the toy down to Tony's side. "I'll just watch."

"No." He shook his head, bringing the truck much closer. "Let's fly. Okay?"

"Later." Dipper pressed on. Tony pouted, once again holding it out for him, only for it to be tucked farther away. "I'm not good at flying."

"I'll teach you." He reassured, truck remaining at his side. "_I_ can fly."

"I know. I saw."

"I'm fast."

"You are. Yeah. _Super _fast."

"So are you." Tony smiled, snagging the shoulder of Dipper's shirt in an upward tug, trying to rouse him into a standing position.

"I still can't _fly, _Tony." He didn't so much as move from his seat. The toddler huffed.

"_Try _to."

"Later."

"Why?"

"I just can't fly, Tony." Dipper shrugged, feigning a smile against the weight of his lips. "I can't fly."

Tony stood still. Dipper smiled a moment longer before ducking his head to check the time. Five till six. He hoped- _hoped, hoped, hoped-_ Bill would return soon. No new messages, of course. Dipper hadn't responded to the first text. What would there have been to type back?

"You can." Tony stated finally, looking oddly concerned. "Don't cry. I'll teach you." The grip on Dipper's shirt became firm, and he used far more force to bring him up. He was still much too small to warrant strength of any kind. The adult hardly leaned out at whatever power was used to lift him.

"I'm not crying?" A fact, prompted as a question. "I just don't feel like it." He brought a finger up to tap against his cheek, almost fearful of encountering dampness. But- no. He wasn't crying. The cheek was dry, as were his eyes. Tony just looked at him; a bit unsure. Emotion was a very raw sensation to him. Even without being a child- compassionate, transparent- Tony was simply more tuned to atmosphere. If not by crying, Dipper was surely experiencing some level of pain not properly expressed through tears. He pulled a bit harder, then released.

"You won't fly? Never?" Tony stepped away from the man. Not out of rejection. Rather, confusion.

"Not _never. _Just not now. I'm tired."

Tony looked away, peering at the green truck in his hands like some deadly weapon. Or a powerful bow. Some valued treasure. All three glances at once, perhaps. It was a truck, that look told him. But, could Dipper not just _imagine _it was a plane? Could he not just _imagine _he could fly? Couldn't he just _imagine _he wasn't tired? Adults were so very strange to Tony.

"When?"

"_Later_."

He puckered his lips at Dipper; a skeptical pout not unlike Miriam's, but far less condescending. The toddler released him then, fabric slipping from in between his fingers with one slow, hesitant motion. Again, he held the truck out, not saying anything. And again, Dipper lowered it from his face.

"I promise." Dipper took out his phone, entered his notes, and began typing up what looked to be a three-part confession of his undying love- snorting, rolling his eyes, backtracking and rewording, before inevitably deleting the entire article.

_I don't even know why I'm writing this it's just so stupid I mean you're you and I'm me it's just so hopeless sometimes I think it's all just so dumb that I'm even trying to be for you what you'll never be for me but-_

Tony's toy truck cut through his line of vision, separating screen from man, as his tiny arm made a directed nose dive in front of his face.

"_Neeeeaoooowwwww_!" He pulled from his lips, having the green object dip and twirl around his site. Dipper craned his neck to get back to what he'd been typing, only for the 'plane' to follow his every move.

"Tony, stop-." He scooted off, only for the toddler to hobble in pursuit on his knees.

"No control!" Tony tried for a terrified expression that only crafted itself into an overtly playful expression. "Oh _no!"_

"_Dude-_." The lilt in his tone kept from a stern remark, as well as the way he'd slipped up and called him by a friendly sidename. The little boy placed a hand on his forearm and leaned in for a more full swing through the air. "Quit it."

"I _can't!_" It swirled around his face again. The truck went up, up, up- Dipper tried sneaking in a few extra words.

_I'm just as confused as you are-_

"_Neeeeeaoooowwww!_" He leaned much farther in, stomach now sliding over Dipper's lap and trapping his arms under the weight. Tony turned onto his back, so the truck was on perfect display. "It's gonna _crash!"_

"Oh, is that what you're doing?" The elder looked down at the boy with unimpressed eyes. However, a slight quake of his lips had him exposed too much around the perceptive youth.

"_I'm _not_." _Tony countered a bit saltily. "I need _help._" Dipper snorted at him.

"I thought you could fly." The truck in his hand became much fasted; more erotic, the sounds louder, Tony's airy screams used to mimic that of the fearful passengers.

"Help! _Help! _AHHHhhhh_hhhh_." Tony's toy got closer and closer to the ground. "Crash in 5. Quick!" He shook his hand up and down, emulating the most extreme case of turbulence known to man.

"Tones. Get up, man."

"_4…_" The child made sure to keep his green truck in the way of the screen, eyes locked on Dipper. "_3…_ Hurry!" Whatever urgency Tony mustered behind those eyes was nothing to the wide, pudgy grin of his cheeks. He snickered quietly, as though letting on how much he was enjoying the game would tip something off to Dipper.

"_2…_" He continued _veeeeeery _slowly, waiting for his half brother to reciprocate. The older just looked down at him with an almost-smile, having managed to wiggle his arms out from under Tony. He tried adding onto his little message.

_I just hope we can make this work-_

"_1…_" The truck went in front of the screen again, and Dipper huffed.

"If I fly the plane to safety, do you _promise _to let me finish my thing?"

Tony nodded his head vigorously, smiling much brighter than before, jiggling the clunky plastic before him.

"Promise! I _promise_!"

Again, Dipper laughed. Sighed. Rolled his eyes before setting his gaze to look down at the child that-.

Held a _striking _resemblance to his father.

The stiff, clenching burn of his abdomen was lost in the instance he took Tony's green truck, gave it a slight lift, before setting it down safely. To which Tony grinned and scooted from the elder's lap, too oblivious to note the heave in Dipper's chest once he was off.

"You can fly~." Tony poked in a sing-song cheer, prodding the brunette's cheek.

"Yeah, yeah." Dipper waved his fingers away, forcing himself not to feel a burn. He _wouldn't _feel a burn. Tony's hands _didn't _sear him. For a moment. Just the tiniest of devouring, skin-breaking seconds, did the off-spring of his assaulter look even an ounce the creature his father was.

No no no no no. His face was far too round. Tony's eyes were doe-like. His gaze was light. His skin was caramel. The tips of his hair were sharp and up, not at all plagued by constricting gel or spray. The boy was young. Not at all John.

Not at all a monster.

"Again?" Tony asked, a bit timidly.

"Later."

"_Pleeeeeeeease!"_

"You _promised, _Tones."

The corners of Tony's lips stretched in distaste, but he didn't protest. He sighed, looked up at the ceiling, puffed his cheeks before inevitably blowing everything out and collapsing beside the male twin. He nestled into the bend of Dipper's arm, keeping perfectly quiet for the few moments of peace they had left, watching as each square inch of his half-brother's phone was coded in words the younger couldn't read. Every so often he'd find a particular word that interested him, and would point it out.

Dipper deleted the text, sighing. His second go at it involved more colorful phrases like '_fuck you' _and '_eat shit,_' as well as more dangerous terms like '_need' _and '_admire.' _That one was thrown away as well.

Just as Dipper began typing up his third confession of whatever it was that made zero sense sitting around in his head, something changed in the weight of the room. Rather, the air pressure. In an instance, it was heavy. Heavy, heavy, heavy. And he, with his lungs full, heart dropping, hair standing on end without cause, couldn't quite pin the sudden shift. Until it struck him what had sucked the soul from his nostrils.

Tony, lying in the bend of his arm. Dipper, leaning back against his filing-cabinet of a toy box. And, the subtle, subtle creak of feet ascending the stairs. Yes, his hairs stood on end, blood running cold and gut squeezing tight. For whatever reason, the feet coming up those steps felt anything but welcomed. Different from the 'tip tip tip' of his mother. The melodic pounce of Mabel. The gaudy, obnoxious gait of Bill.

Too quiet. Too sneaky. Each creek in each step held out a bit too long, pulling away only a mark before letting on suspicion. And, to the owner's credit, they were in no way trying to be sneaking. It was simply in their nature. Their slimy, two-faced nature to slide between corners unnoticed, yet noticing all. It was completely like them to sound so prowl-ish. A shadow was cast beyond the door, and Dipper's chest broke at the realization that their destination was here.

John knocked once before opening.

"_Daddy_!" Tony laughed, bouncing up to greet the grown man who stood- Stood. He stood. Dipper tried to remind himself of that. It was all he'd done so far. It was all he could do.

But no matter what, he couldn't help but _feel feel feel feel feel _the hand on his thigh, the lips on his skin, the tap of rain, the smell of citrus, the road, the radio. The everything.

All at once.

All over again.

John didn't so much as glance at Dipper. Only stooped down to rustle the hair of his son with hands that engulfed Tony's head. He was poised to seem natural. Everything about him was casual and exact, to the point it could've been that he didn't recognize his own step-son after so many years without contact. Which might've been the case- should've been- if not for the heavy gaze John threw up at him once. Held it, made sure it seared Dipper's jeans to the hardwood floor, before letting it drop.

"_Hey_, buddy! Thought I might find you up here." John smiled cheerily, with a white toothiness that cut Dipper from a distance. He hadn't moved from his spot on the floor.

"We _flew_!" Tony responded without context. Without explaining the traffic jam on his foam mat, or the green truck, or what would've been a plane crash. And, John didn't ask to know.

"Did you? Wow, kiddo. That must've been a real adventure." He rustled Tony's hair again. A bit rougher this time; a bit impatient. "Sounds like you and Dipper had a lot of fun." Looking up. Heavy, heavy, heavy, heavy, heavy. Laying bricks along his chest, his throat, his lap. Stay there, it said. After all those years- no contact, never on speaking terms- he still had it in him to lower the glass cup over Dipper's head and keep him trapped like a bug. Suddenly, things were heavy. They were heavy.

"Yeah!" Tony laughed, shaking the hand from his hair. He picked at the tips so they'd stand up and spike again. "With this!" He held out the truck. John laughed.

"Tony, that's a _truck._"

"Nu-uh! _Jet_."

John rustled his hair more firmly now, pressing his head a bit so the added weight would make Tony's face duck. He didn't say anything more of the flight, the jet, the roads, the crash, or the son. Once Tony's eyes were away, Dipper thought John might give him another heavy look. Already, he felt like his chest might crumble under the pressure of what had been laid over him. Anything more, and he might shatter into pieces.

The man didn't, though. Only smiled, looking down at Tony, but with a glance that was so close to stealing a peek, it bordered distasteful. No. Not _bordered. __Was, _Dipper reminded himself.

"Good on you, little man."

Dipper examined his phone again. No new messages. No snapshot. No update. And his fingers were trembling too hard to type out a simple text.

"Wanna play?" Tony asked, forcing whatever was left of Dipper's spirit from his own body. Because sweet, sweet Tony wanted to play with his father, who'd seemingly just gotten off work. And his father might just do that. He might just play airplanes. He could dig through the toy cubbies, touch whatever Tony had touched, rearrange things the way he wanted them, and that was so very like him. He might clear traffic, but what was the rush?

He could play a completely different game.

"Later, Tony."

Later.

Later.

Later.

Dipper felt suddenly perverse for speaking those very words only moments before. And even more when Tony gave an otherwise identical reaction to his first rejection. The same look. The same let down. Dipper felt ill in all forms.

"_When_ later?"

"Tomorrow."

"Promise?"

"_Promise_."

Like that, Tony looked both turned down and unsurprised. The toddler sighed, casting a single glance over his shoulder at Dipper. It seemed he might ask once more. Might give it another go and plead with the brunette to play pretend. Which would've been a perfect excuse. It would've been the perfect exit out. He could suggest playing downstairs, around family. He might even convince Miriam to let him take Tony out to the park. If he'd only ask.

The boy's mouth opened- readied a plea- and closed before looking away.

"_Okay…_" Tony groaned, head dropping just an ounce. John let out a friendly chuckle, bending on his knee to meet the child.

"Hey. Chin up, guy. We'll goof off later." His eyes went up. The space above Dipper's head. The left of him; the right. Never exactly landing _on _him, but certainly locking him up. The splintered glint in his eye produced a moldy taste in Dipper's mouth. "In the meantime, you didn't happen to order _ice cream_, did you?"

The brothers' ears perked up. A moment of lifted weights in the room. Flying, flying, flying when those words escaped John's lips, and a strange, gurgled hope bending its way through Dipper. Bill was surely in the house, then. Most likely kissing up to Miriam; in the kitchen, the dining room, the living room. But, _there_. With ice cream. With the car. With the _poison_.

"Yeah!" Tony cheered.

John opened his mouth, and the very breath he pulled seemed to wrestle the oxygen from Dipper's lungs.

"Thought so." He put his hand on Tony's head for the millionth time, with something that wasn't one bit fueled by love. Rather, a practice. A party trick he could pull out in front of others. That sensitive, friendly touch that _promised _things. _Promised later. _It gave reassurance. It prohibited doubt in himself as a father. It convinced without delivering, and in each one of his fingers he lied about caring for what he was touching.

John smiled.

"There's some guy in a suit waiting for you downstairs. Better hurry before all the ice cream melts, champ." The hand in Tony's hair carded through strands of raven threads before promptly removing itself, as though John much preferred his fingers resting along his own waist, or fiddling with the dial of his watch, or nonchalantly sliding across the v-neck of his T. Which he did. John couldn't seem to keep his hands off himself for too long.

Tony giggled up at the man. He stepped beyond his father's legs and made one decisive move to exit the playpen, only to quickly back-peddle.

"My toys." The little one went, noting the otherwise clean floor, scattered softly in mat pieces and his single truck. Miriam would become frustrated if she had to pick up after him. Tony took a step to reenter the room, only for John's long legs to block his path.

"I'll pick them up for you, squart. You just head downstairs." Didn't put his hand in the young boy's hair this time. Instead, strained a smile across his lips that crusted over into a grimace, before taking the initiative and patting Tony outside. "I'll only be a minute."

A sliver of Tony's gaze was caught between door and frame as John pulled the knob in, a click signalling complete privacy beyond the wall of oak. Before closing, Dipper's eyes met the younger. Something might've been communicated between the two, considering the way his expression squeezed in distress. But, he was only a boy. Young as he was, the look Dipper gave wasn't one Tony understood. It only confused him again, when he noted the fear in the older's eyes, the tremble of his shoulders, and a glassiness about him that might otherwise destroy him. It lasted only an instance before they were split up, and John let out a sigh.

His back faced Dipper, stagnant in his position before the door. Like a statue. Hard as stone- stiff. Immovable- but seemingly lax in its posture. Some casual greek lounging about the palace of Julius Caesar. The dainty mold of aphrodites or Apollo, knelt and sprawled softly in the wake of an audience. They may have looked to bend under a fleeting gesture, only to find that, up close, they were pale white, carved, cold and unyielding to the touch, chiseled from marble and as lifeless as they were heartless.

John didn't so much as face Dipper when he spoke.

"You came." He mused casually, head lifting and twisting just short of glancing behind him. "Miriam told me you'd planned on making the trip, but I didn't believe her. Thought you'd chicken out again." John laughed, shaking his head.

For the life of him, Dipper couldn't find what was so funny. Not in the slightest. It felt like a high stakes hostage situation. It felt like he might fall to pieces if John kept adding so much weight to the room. His top lip was already glued to his bottom, and his hands felt tied to his back. Every bit of skin that slid against each other, instead of releasing itself, became sticky and rough before webbing together like rope. It was like he'd cocooned himself in his own flesh.

He contemplated shooting a text Bill's way, and was sure he could muster the humility necessary to cry for help. His hand lowered, reaching for the phone now tucked beneath his thigh.

One floor.

Bill was one floor away.

"You'd gotten so _good _at avoiding me over the years." He spoke, and Dipper's hand went limp. He curled his fingers around the device, but nothing more. It was the equivalent of lifting a concrete brick. The floor became a magnet he was unceremoniously drawn to, despite the way he seemingly fought against it in his mind.

"Was the drive over okay? You bump into any traffic? Interstate 5's a bitch and a _half, _let me tell you. Must've been rough, making that kind of a trip just for a birthday... You never _were_ a party person." John made a casual move to turn, with that sharp, self-serving smile, and those greedy, beaten eyes, and the way he couldn't keep from striking a pose, or drawing his tongue across his teeth.

Or have Dipper completely, entirely cornered. Just as he'd always liked it.

The brunette remained still, ever-aware of the ques. A tilted ear in his direction. A slight twitch mistaken for his gesture to continue. John took anything and everything as a plea to hear more of him; people went out of their _way _to hear him_. _It was hardly the case. Hardly. If all it took to keep the man's mouth shut was a quiet, unresponsive step-son, Dipper was sure he could shift into stone at will.

The world didn't really work in ques. The earth was sporadic and unpredictable. There was no rhythm. There never had been. There never had been. There never had been. It was all a ruse Dipper simply imagined into existence, if only to convince himself of control. Ques meant action. Actions led to consequences. And consequences were inherently awful. So, he refrained from ques. He refrained from actions, which led to consequences, which led to death. He was certain they did.

But, the world didn't seem to care what Dipper had to say on the matter. It didn't seem to dance in clear-cut lines of '_step here' _and '_move there,' _because that path would always lack adventure. He was sure the earth didn't work in ques then, because despite keeping quiet, and despite not moving, and despite refraining from a direct glance in John's direction, the adult still found an opening to speak.

"So." He began, leaning his weight against the door. "Seven years, huh? How's it been?"

Didn't speak. Didn't respond. Hoped to refrain from breathing, if it meant stalling a conversation.

Confrontation.

"Mabel says you've got a girlfriend now. How's that working out for you? Everything you'd hoped it would be?"

A second of peace. Silence. John's silence. He drew a hand through his hair before continuing.

"And a job too, huh? As a CSI agent?" John whistled, rolling his eyes. "_Fancy_. You'll have to show me around the facility one of these days."

John's back, pressed firmly against the oak panelling of the playpen's door, sagged and straightened as he willed himself upon supporting legs. The way he moved about the room- coy, planned, cautious- appeared all if not unnerving. He was a good distance from Dipper. Just close enough to twist the knob, but far enough away to keep every part of the brunette out of his hands. Still, it felt much too violating when the raven-haired man slid a hand over the corner of what Dipper was currently propping himself up against. Like a proxy. Like he was transfering the touch.

As though electrified, Dipper jerked away from the cubbies, back ridged, hands firm, feeling far less heavy for the short, freeing frames it took him to do so. Instead, something light. Far, far too light. Not flying. But, being tossed up in midair without protection or plan. No parachute. No catcher. Not where he was, up and up and up, away from the cubbies, but now falling at the sensation of attendance. A kind of awareness he'd hoped to keep John from seeing; letting him know Dipper could hear him, _had _heard him, and would continue to listen. He'd given a que.

"Oh, for fuck's _sake_. Calm down. I'm not gonna _rape _you."

Which was impossible to believe, even though a large portion of him hadn't even considered it. But, with the way John had _said _it. It was on par with '_I'm not a racist, but-._' They were in the same categories. All of it. It was all the same. The pretense. The before and after photos entirely different. Because, what came from the mouth was destruction. The lips were a weaponizing human trait. Best to equip it with a silencer. Best to disguise what they meant with what they'd introduced it with. A good first impression to downplay very, very poor intentions.

_I'm not gonna rape you._

Perhaps not _now_.

But then.

Back before.

In that house.

That car.

If he hadn't packed his bags as soon as he had, the damage might have been far less reversible.

A hand on the knee was all it had been. A pair of lips. Fingers brushing his hips.

Transformed. Shifting. Becoming.

A fist in his hair. Knuckles-deep in the teenage boy. Hand prints around the neck; the throat. A perverse, never-ending stream of touch-touch-touch whenever Miriam was out, and Mabel was with friends, and Dipper was still too ashamed to address the sexual nature of their forced relationship.

Things could have turned out far, far different back then.

"_I know_." Dipper croaked in a strangled, breathy tone not unlike being throttled. He swallowed to wet his lungs, only for it to come off as all the more anxious. John placed his foot forward, poised on getting a bit closer, only for Dipper to note the motion and take three scrambling scoots back, bumping his shoulders into the room's heater. The older man groaned before retracting his advance, readjusting himself a distance away.

"Could've fooled me." John clicked his tongue. "What the hell is this? You look like the poster child for domestic abuse."

Dipper laughed. Short, pained, with a head shake in disbelief. It all felt so surreal. Being in that room with the grown man, now grown himself. Back then, it'd only been John. With his car. His wallet. His hands. An adult, praying on the flesh of youth. Before, it might have been easy to devoir the young, vulnerable teen. It might have been possible to get whatever it was he'd craved, for whatever reason desired, for whatever reason needed to feel up and demolish. For whatever reason. Dipper would never understand what John had been thinking all those years ago, when things had still made sense.

_The world works in patterns._

_The earth turns by schedule._

Things were far too muddled now. The room was foggy and diluted, Dipper's very breath dropping through his stomach and pulling him down. Sinking into hardwood flooring. Sinking into the past. He'd thought he was older now. Dipper had banked on being older. He only sat, though. He only sat, keeping from direct contact.

"Look at me." John continued with splintered, creeping sizzles in his tone. "_Look _at me."

"What'll happen if I do?"

Sinking, sinking, sinking.

Heavy, heavy, heavy.

A muffled voice came from the wooden flooring below him. Miriam, giving her speech on public appearance and social expectations. Mabel, countering it with her own flimsy points. Bill, trying his best to remain charming in both women's eyes by keeping a foot in either of their courts. Giving his approving agreeance like a parasyte suckling for blood. Dipper could hear it all. He wished like nothing else that they could hear them as well.

"My God. _Nothing!"_ John spat, outright insulted by the brunette's cynical inquiry. "I just wanna talk without feeling like you expect me to pull some shit. _Christ. _Give a guy a break. It hasn't been easy for me either, you know."

That.

_That _struck Dipper's interest.

"And, how _exactly_ has this situation fucked you over?" A sudden bitterness. Venom. The clutching, boiling build of vengeance in his stomach when Dipper acknowledged- Yes. He _knew_\- the audacity of what John had just said. The irony of complaining how hard it had been on _John. _How _John _had to face himself in the mirror after what he'd done. How it was _John _that had to work through the trauma of it all. Poor, poor John, trapped in his own skin, unable to escape the touch, the rain, the smells, the sounds.

Was it even possible for a man like him to be made aware of other people's pains? Could he experience empathy? Could he understand the crawling, ripping, slitting agony of being _touched? _No. Not the way Dipper had. Never like that.

"_Don't_." John snarled. "Don't act like you're the only victim here. Don't say it like you didn't know what you'd been doing all that time."

"I didn't '_do' _anything." Dipper refrained from looking at the man, not so much out of fear, but out of spite. He curled his fingers into fists, willing himself to his stumbling feet. Again, he felt lighter. Lighter, light. Almost flying, but not. The blood rushed from his brain, and he found solace in the discombobulating sensation.

"Oh, _bull_! The first day I met you, you were all over me."

_The first day they'd met._

Miriam and her shiny new boyfriend. A tactical arm around her waist. Her hand playing with the curling hairs that stuck from his V-neck. And Dipper, a distance off, watching them hawkishly from the kitchen table, eyes peeking up from his novel to observe in secret.

Not to look condescending.

Certainly not to _admire. _

Simply to compare what John seemed to be, and what Daniel Pines _had _been. A bit taller. Suave, definitely. Clean, pressed white teeth, and jeans a bit too tight. A bit too young as well, if Dipper was honest. Not like something his _father _would wear. No, that man had always known to dress his age. He knew when to release his younger days, lest he become a balding man in his 60's, still banging to music from his generation in a crop top, cut off jeans and some flip flops.

That wasn't John, though. John was fit; '_young.' _Young as a man willing to marry someone with kids could be. He'd never get old. He'd never age. He'd never go bald. Not him. He was Apollo. He was immortal, from the way he talked to Miriam like a celebrity. He cradled her waist a bit too chummily. That'd been Dipper's first impression. He had been too close to mom. That man- having paid for dinner, taken the _scenic _route home- was six feet deep in Miriam's bubble, and she hadn't bothered to push him out. Hadn't even made a fuss about entering the house with shoes on.

Which was very unlike her.

He watched them from a distance. At the dinner table. By the counter. Getting a glass of water from the sink. Always throwing subtle, observant glances over his shoulder at the two adults currently on the couch. Just talking. Miriam, flittering. John, leaning. His arm around her shoulder. The other on her thigh. And, if something were to go sour, who would be in charge of preventing foul play?

Dipper, of course.

So, yes. Those eyes had been all over John. His hair. His hands. His shoes. For all the right reasons.

John would catch the younger staring and force Dipper's eyes away. Little did he know that the man himself didn't care for such reserves. He kept watching. Admired the small of his back. How he could collect Dipper's shoulders up. The soft, pale skin behind his knees. Little things. Cute, young, malleable. John found it all very alluring, the way he caught Dipper's eyes shifting off him just as he'd gone to look again. Appetizing, it'd seemed. But, not at all a challenge.

Until the nights.

_The __nights__. The __nights__. The __nights__._

When Miriam would lead them to her room, falling back onto a well-made bed, John saw it. The similar curve of their lips. The slender line of their chins. The lovely, lovely indent of their hips. When they made love, it was never Miriam under him. It was never her.

"We didn't even _talk _the first time we met!" Dipper's eyes came up. He saw the cold, spiralling depths of a heartless man. John surely never grew old. Not him. Or, more so, not in his memory. For, the man standing in front of him was certainly older. Young, by John's own standards. Always young. But getting to a point where the lines along his mouth would become permanent after a time. He was a shade paler. Just barely. Definitely not close to crumbling to dust, but on the verge of age. On the edge of noticing changes he couldn't hide. But, John was still a handsome, built man.

_For now._

"Where the hell do you get off thinking I even _wanted _that from you?!" Dipper took a step forward, then two back. It was ever-teetering pain, stepping away and feeling light, light, light only to step ahead and sink, sink, sink. He settled for the middle-ground.

"Get off? Get _off?! _You were playing fucking _mind games!_" John advanced this time, his long legs carrying him the short distance that separated the two.

_Heavy. Heavy. Heavy._

Dipper stood, but stumbled.

"Walking around the house, looking so _goddamn-_!" He bared his teeth like a beast before turning, cursing, and slapping one of the figurines placed neatly on the shelf to the floor. When he turned back, John looked like he might…

There wasn't a word to describe what he looked like he might do.

"So goddamn _there! _You were always _there! _And all day long, it was shorts and T-shirts, shorts and T-shirts! Do you have _any _idea what that does to a man?" He put a hand on his chest, and the slight spark of self-pity in his gaze was outright ridiculous.

"_I was never trying to-!_" Another step. John was close. Too close. Like six feet inside Miriam's bubble. With the same energy. The same drive of intent. He saw it in John's eyes, where he meant to take the advancement. Dipper tried to side-step the cornering, when the man's bulky shoulders boxed his body in.

"You _were!_" He grabbed him by the wrist, jerking it about, yanking him around before dumping the feature like a puppet's strings. "Stop acting like a fucking _saint. _Stop searching for a way to look innocent. _I know what you were trying to do_. You liked all that damn attention, I'll bet. You liked when you made me think of you-." John's arm slid high above Dipper's head, making it so their bodies became that much closer. His hand slipped between the brunette's legs.

A left hook to the jaw. John, stumbling back, cradling his chin, snarling and gaping at the boy. Dipper, heart jack hammering, staring bug-eyed, back slouched, arms extended to grasp at bits of wall, like he might bolt, or break, or scream, or die. His fist had connected perfectly with the man. He'd done it. He'd fought back.

And he wished more than anything that he could reverse it.

John didn't react right away. Just rubbed the swelling bump, nursing the pain, feeling wronged and slighted even more than before. He took one step left, then right, shifting weight from either feet. John contemplated going at it once again. Trying to intimidate Dipper. That hand had only been the starting line. He hadn't even gotten around to squeezing at anything before the little shit had freaked out on him.

John decided against cornering Dipper again. He had vague recollections of when he'd done it a time before. On the road, rain pouring down, no place to go. It'd surely been a blessing at the time, headed off to pick the freshman up from school, lube in pocket.

He'd caged Dipper up against the door, and the boy retaliated. Bad idea. Bad idea. He shouldn't have been so hasty. John needed to back up.

"You…" He trailed off for a moment, massaging the bump more firmly. It would bruise, yellow, and disappear. No reason to make a fuse out of things. "You're a real handful, you know that?"

He straightened himself, noting that his jaw not only popped when he spoke, but that Dipper had sent spit flying from his mouth to dot the breast of his shirt. It felt all the more annoying, looking at the boy hunched up, shaking on his feet like a caged animal, but still with that ferocity in his eyes. That warning to _stay away_. John certainly wasn't the one in danger here. Dipper didn't have a right to act afraid.

He was the real monster.

"All these years, you've been off…" John waved his hand through the air. "Fucking around. Doing your own thing, while I've been out here with your OCD of a mother."

"Don't _call her _that-."

"Don't get offended. I call 'em like I see 'em, okay?" He sighed, combing a hand through his hair, looking amazingly weathered at the angle. "I always get stuck with the crazy ones."

"Then how about you _leave?_" Dipper snarled.

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"I'd _love _that." A step forward. A lurch back. The fleeting press of when John's hand had placed itself on his-… It burned. It hurt, and it seared through flesh. Where he'd touched him. An add-on to the already long list of lines John had crossed without permission. _Wrist. Leg. Crotch._

"I'm sure you would. You're just dying to see me go. You were always so cold to me. I never had a chance; a snotty bitch like you would never give a guy like me a _chance_."

Oh, the pity. The stuffy, unjustified pity. Dipper snorted, straightening his posture just an ounce, enough to look him in the eye.

"A guy like _you_? What? A _molester_?"

Which had been the wrong thing to say. A blow below the belt, as John would attest to. Definitely not something he deserved to hear. Not something he wanted tagged on his fancy, tight jeans. His V-neck. His clean-shaven jaw or slicked hair. John took a step forward.

"_I'm not a damn __molester__._"

Dipper laughed again. Less broken. Afraid, but put together. The moment John had begun to expose himself with those pathetic features, he'd lost a portion of his looming persona. It was present, but not as pressing. It didn't suffocate the boy as much.

"Call 'em like I see 'em, right?" He smiled despite the wavering of his lips. Dipper thought he might be able to pull himself to a complete stand, when John grabbed the figurine he'd knocked to the ground- some space-cadet-type, with a detachable raygun and helmet- and quickly slung it against a bit of wall to the left of Dipper. Pieces of plastic popped apart and rained down like broken glass.

"Shut your mouth." Like that, John was back to his hysterics. His '_It was hard for me, too._' His _'You knew what you were doing._' His _'You'd been asking for it. I tried it because of you.' _"Shut your damn mouth before I do something you're not gonna like."

A warning far, far too late. It was all suddenly so ridiculous, so silly, it made Dipper feel light, light, light again. Just a little. Enough to lift all the way from his hunched posture. Enough to look the man in the eye. Enough to see the hypocrisy; the comical lack of self-awareness. Almost laugh again, double over in giddy pain, and bust a tear from the strain. But, didn't. Couldn't. Not when John finally collected himself, cleared his throat, and tried with every muscle to compose what was left.

"I'm onto you, kid. You and your shitty facade." He took a step forward- two- and Dipper, for the millionth time, sank. "I don't know _why _you came back… But if you think you're gonna get me to fess up to anything, you're crazier than your mother."

"What are you talking about?"

John threw his head up, acting as though he'd been knocked back from the sheer stupidity of it all, though staying silent. He sucked in a thick breath, squeezing his eyes shut before speaking.

"_Don't… _play _dumb_." He brought his head forward, trying to calm his adrenaline. "Seven years? _Seven? _And, all of a sudden you feel like waltzing back for a _birthday party?_" John laughed. "Yeah, _sure._ Look, champ. You can rope together all the support you _want_. You can be Miriam's pressure golden child, and Mabel's twin, and Tony's object of idolization, and what's-his-face-downstairs' whatever-the-hell-you-guys-are, and Daniel's only _son_. I don't give a damn. If you came back here to _'expose' _me, well I'm sorry, but you wasted about _80_ bucks on gas."

Dipper kept himself from correcting the man. Kept from giving a suggestive, taunting reply. Kept from outright admitting that John had (to his credit) definitely been right to assume he was there on business, but absolutely wrong on what _kind. _He sucked in a shaky breath, body switching on him with every stretch of muscle. Light, heavy, light, heavy. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to know that the man in front of him was completely _off. _A good guess, but _wrong. _And, the brunette wanted so badly to rub it in his face, while simultaneously losing his original motivation to confront the man at all.

Blood would be on his hands.

Dipper would find himself in a completely different cage.

"That's… You're assuming things."

Would it be so bad if Dipper didn't correct him? He was telling the truth, there. It had been an assumption. It had also been wrong, and he knew it was. But, the direction John was taking it covered for what had actually been planned. The way Dipper countered him made the phrase sound cornered, secretive and frightened, on account that he in fact _was. _It played in his favor, though. The tone, though not confirming anything through words, confirmed everything by mood.

John's features darkened in effect, noting the shaken attempt as deflecting his theory.

"Holy _fuck._" He whined. "All this time, and you never got over it? What the hell is with you? You're almost _23, _and you're still licking your wounds?"

Maybe it was alright to let him think otherwise. Maybe it was important to teach him this lesson.

"I was a _child-._"

"'_Was.'_ As in _not anymore. _You have a _job_, for christ's sake. You pay _bills_. Don't you have anything better to do than harassing a fucking _father?_"

Maybe it was okay to give him that kind of surprise. Maybe, just _maybe, _the blood on his hands would be a touch sweeter than the rest.

"_You __harassed __me!_"

"_No, I didn't!_"

Three more steps, and they were back to where they'd been before. Close. Way too close, with Dipper backing up, and John's whole fist slamming the wall beside his head. The brunette flinched, but remained standing. By what? No idea. Perhaps the anger he felt from John's words. Perhaps the knowledge that backing down was impossible. Perhaps knowing the man was much taller, and much bulkier than the smaller, meaning he had to maintain whatever remained of his fury. Despite feeling he couldn't throw the same kind of punch this time, knowing John was most-likely prepared for it.

And, he…

John looked so much angrier than before.

"_Ahem_."

The two men's eyes, though locked on each other intensely, quickly snapped up at the added voice, perched casually against the door's mouth. Bill stood there, shoulder pressed into frame, smile wide, arms crossed with an odd tightness unlike his usual form.

"Should I have _knocked _first?" He asked, cocking a brow. John was quick to force a distance between himself and the brunette. Palms pressing into Dipper's chest, shoving off of him, he treated it as though the smaller had come onto him. John was quick to check himself for peaking out hairs and wrinkles in his clothing. A frantic comb of his appearance- his persona- before gleaming at the blond with pearly white teeth.

"Oh, no no no. You're fine. Me and my… We were just having a talk." John cleared his throat, gesturing a hand at the clearly shaken body still pressed against the wall. Dipper's breathing hitched, expanded his chest, before releasing itself in fast sporadic puffs. He looked at Bill once- the blond shooting him a look just short of '_Is everything alright?_\- and shook his head. His partner's smile hardened.

"A pretty loud one, matey. Miriam asked to make sure nothing was on fire." Bill chuckled.

"What? _Nah. _Just a disagreement is all." John balled up his fist, coughing into it with discrete uneasy. He made his way across the room, giving Dipper the space necessary to ease up from the wall. "You're the guy with the ice cream, right?" John extended a hand out to him. Bill took it sharply; smiling, giving a firm, sturdy squeeze to his five digits.

"William." He replied in curt mannerisms, without his usual add-on of whimsical play or '_But, please. Call me __Bill._' He simply took the hand, shook, smiled and released. "I work with your step son."

"Oh, yeah? I'll bet he's the _best _in his department."

Bill gave Dipper another side-glance. He was standing straight now, dusting himself of nonexistent dust, using the cuff of his shirt to wipe his eyes. Something Bill tried not to notice.

"Eh. He's not as smart as he looks."

John laughed. Dipper didn't say anything of it.

"You don't say." The man continued to chuckle despite himself. He tossed a glance over his shoulder in hopes of seeing the brunette in a state of silent irritation. But, alas, he was off to the side, staring blankly out the window, pretending the two men didn't exist. "I'll have to quiz you later, then. I'm sure he's a real card on the job."

John reached a hand out, clapping the other man on his back with a friendly, overly-pleased smile. Bill mimicked the other's with a slight tilt of the head, as well as a twin hand on John's shoulder.

"He is." Bill agreed, nodding his head. "We can talk more about _that _over a couple of drinks, yeah? I heard Miriam would be whipping up something special for the twins tonight."

"Ah, the _toast. _Of course. It's tradition."

Bill's stretching, pulling cheeks couldn't help but rip to their absolute limit. He pet the man's shoulder, giving him a firm tap.

"We'll talk then." His eye was facing John, but his attention was on the small body beyond him, chin tilted up at an odd angle, skin pale, trying to catch a glimpse through the window of a plane flying overhead. With a glassy, apathetic gaze. "Would you mind giving me and my partner a sec? The boss just rang me up on a few misplaced documents, and Dipper was the last to handle them. Work-related crud."

John paused before giving his reply.

"Uh… Yeah. Yeah, yeah, yeah." He shook his head. "Not a problem. I gotta go… check up on Miriam anyway. You two just- talk _work_, alright?" John shot Dipper a dangerous look, only to find the brunette was still staring out the window. "I'll see you downstairs." John made an unconfident move for the door, only to feel Bill's hand slap against his chest, forcing him to a halt.

"_Wait._" Bill emphasized his words with a smooth flick of his wrist, extending a hand out to the man. John looked down, and between the blond's fingers was what looked to be a rectangular card in fancy print. "Take this." He paused before carefully removing it from Bill's hand, and reading out loud what was written.

"'_William C. Angle: Criminal mind expert'_?" John gave the man a queer expression, followed by a weighted look to the card.

"My card." Bill informed with just a little too much spice in his tone. He tapped a finger at the bottom of the white paper, and willed a coy smirk. "If you ever feel like-." Bill paused, shrugging. "_-Talking._ Just gimme a ring."

"Talking?" John asked, one brow snapping up in inquiry. The wisp of a grin danced across his lips when Bill nodded right back, with a shot of something curious.

"If you'd like." He responded in a tone sure of its intentions. John looked him up and down, pursed his lips, squinted his eyes, before allowing the grin of his mouth to bend into a smug beam.

"I'll think about it." John tucked the card away in his jeans and turned on his heels. He cast one final look over his shoulder before exiting the room, a shit-eating grin scrawled nastily over his features.

Once the man had finally exited, Bill let the smile on his lips drop. He took a second to himself- sighed, ran a hand through his hair- before addressing Dipper, still looking out the window.

"You think he jerks off in the mirror?" Bill asked, not at all joking. Dipper let out a soft snort despite the shudder of his spine.

"Probably." He laughed through a sniff, turning reluctantly from what once was his bedroom window. Bill cringed once his partner was fully spun around, nose tinged pink and eyes reddening.

"_Please _don't tell me I have to fix that, too." He groaned, pulling a hand down his face. Dipper only smiled, weak as it was.

"No. I'm just-. I'm not sure. He's just really, really terrible." Dipper's voice wavered brokenly. He closed his eyes, brow furrowing as he massaged his temple in distress.

"More than _me?_"

The sky had started to get that orange tint about it. What lasted of the sun was a bright yellow ball sitting precariously along the line of earth's crust. A flock of shaded birds flew overhead the house, just outside the window, and Dipper couldn't help but feel it.

_Lighter, lighter, lighter._

He snorted again, scrunching his nose cutely.

"Does it intimidate you?" Dipper willed himself ahead, happy when Bill's neck was wrapped securely between his arms.

"_Me_? Not at all." Bill brushed the comment aside as easily as it had been prompted. He looked as though there truly were no one as perfectly treacherous as he, and was undoubtedly pleased by it. "He's got nothing on me. I'm the only man who knows how to push your buttons, aren't I?"

Bill let it happen. Dipper, beaming warmly. Soft, porcelain nails grazing the flesh of his cheek bones. A shift in his gaze, followed by the smaller's arms clinging his neck more tightly. He pressed onto his tippy toes to lay a smooth, welcomed kiss across the blonds lips.

Which is when he fell apart. Cried into the kiss before placing a hand across Bill's chest and willed himself away. Dipper clasped a hand over his mouth; shook, rang his own head, and wept as he stepped back, a distance too far from the touch. And Bill, if he weren't so well maintained, weren't so damn composed, might've tried to stop the separation.

"_I __just-_." He began in a whispery, wrecked tone. He paused, balling a fist against his skull and banging once in frustration. "_I just feel really dirty right now. I feel dirty..."_


	39. Distant

The distinct tension that lay between Dipper Pines and John McCartner seemed palpable to all but the women of the room. The eldest male, now seated a distance off by the kitchen table, did no more than rest his heels against the bar of his wooden chair. A tactical hand bent below his chin; the soft set of his eyes, clear and pointer politely around the space of his wife's figure. There was a calmness to his persona, like the approachable comradery of childhood friends.

Miriam didn't seem to notice her son, perched a ways off near the threshold of the kitchen, clutching either elbow with paling white knuckles; purpling finger tips. Too busy admiring the light skip of her own gait when she turned prettily, bent, and determined the crisp tanning of some casserole she'd thrown in the oven. She preened from the sheer image her poise conjured. The perfect housewife, in her perfect home, filled by her perfect children. Perfect to her alone, yet offset by imperfection she couldn't quite place; couldn't reach.

All the while Miriam enjoyed herself, pulling her dainty shtick, Dipper remained just short of her glowing cast. He couldn't allow himself to join them in the kitchen. Only hugged his elbows tighter when John made a slight shift in his posture. The brunette remained a ways behind, a step from the room's entrance, looking and feeling closed off. John didn't so much as glance at the male; didn't gesture or readjust himself to peek his way. He hardly acted like anything had happened just moments before, and it might have remained as that if not for the purpling bruise of John's chin, now settled from Dipper's precise fists.

He should've done more, Dipper thought to himself. He should have kept his fists up. He pulled his elbows in, making himself small.

The blond by his side wasn't so much in his presence, as he was just left of Dipper. Not close. Not really. Some 1-2 feet apart, but farther still. Near enough to flick a brown curl of hair behind the smaller's ear with little more than a slight reach of Bill's golden hand. To note the tight clenching and unclenching of Dipper's fingers against either arm; perhaps the light bruising of his own nails cutting flesh. Maybe even close enough to catch the trail end of some silent mumble from between the brunette's subtly parted lips.

'_Dirty dirty dirty.'_

If so, Bill opted not to mention it.

He was far away, though. The two were separated in a form unjustified for lovers. In such a way that Bill, though dying to gather an arm full of Dipper for reasons not yet disclosed to himself, felt he could place his fingers inside the brunette's _mouth- _allow the jaw to clamp; his teeth to crush bone- and still be separated.

Which was very, very irritating.

Bill's hand went out, just short of clasping, simply to place the tips of his own fingers against Dipper's. And, yes. There was a distance between them, in the hurt, pained way the smaller jolted- hissed- and pulled his own hand back in shame. Like he'd been licked at the thumb by scorching heat. Like Bill might bite. The blond willed his own hand back just as quickly, suddenly confused as to why he'd reached out in the first place.

Humans required companionship, and they might need touch subconsciously, and may crave the simple brush of fingertips between lovers, simply to examine the light pulse of their heartbeat, or indulge in mild warmth, and hurt in the midst of their partner's pain- in whatever form that hurt might develop- and hope to comfort to a degree, and keep them close, and near, and not at all with the distance that separated the two.

And Bill was most-certainly barreling towards a very human transformation.

"Mason? Sweety?" Miriam's voice chimed in suddenly, her first _real _look at Dipper being a worrying one. Her son's ears perked up, but he did little to cloak his expression. She may have addressed him in hopes that he _would _try to cover it and indulge her. Though, when his features didn't brighten, and his posture didn't straighten out, Miriam looked as though her fantasy had dropped without so much as a struggle. She looked tender, rising from her seat by the table, placing a soft finger across her lips. "Are you feeling alright? You're _pale_."

"He's _always _pale." John snorted. A bit too nastily, by the way his wife scowled at him, lips prickling at his tone. It only lasted a moment before realising, shamefully, '_Oh, right. That's my __husband__.' _Her features relaxed, if not wavering to apologise.

"Yes, but _still_." Miriam motioned to face her son. "Did you eat anything on the road? You're so skinny now; you should have something." The maternal, genuine expression of concern scrawled across her face was as rare as it was enchanting. She was hardly the type to nurture her children; not in an emotionally stable climate. Even then, Miriam found herself rushing for a possible solution in hopes of avoiding outright coddling.

However, the external plates had softened. Just barely. Enough for her brows to knit a bit too tightly; a bit afraid. Her hand went to reach for him before retracting itself. Dipper was all the way across the room, after all. Instead, she made quick work of turning towards the counter to snatch up an orange for him. Not coddling. Hoping not to dive into anything that might be more than hunger. Instead, wanting to lighten the boy from afar. To keep away the weak, manipulative vowels of cooing remarks brought down through affection, while still striving to humor whatever had given her son such a poor expression. She began to peel the fruit for him when Dipper's frantic, broken tone halted her.

"_No_." He pressed awkwardly, almost stumbling over his feet to stop her, only for a snag of John's eye to clip him in place. The tip of Dipper's right shoe had barely slid past the entrance of the kitchen before sliding outside once again. Distant. He forced his fingers to loosen their grips along his elbows. "I-I'm fine. Just a little nauseous." He admitted.

"_Nauseous?_" Miriam's manicured nails removed themselves from the skin of citrus. She mindlessly curled her right hand into her apron, soaking off bits of juice. The woman gave Dipper a quick scan of his features before agreeing- yes, he looked ill. "Do you need to lie down?"

"No, that's okay."

"I can get the guest room set up for you."

"I said it's _okay_."

"You look so pale, though." Miriam whined, cupping her cheek. It was always like her to emit care through persecution; the way his statement never quite landed, never resonated. He felt as though even a moment taken to suck in a breath- compose himself- would be met by Miriam's mouth opening, finger raised, as she countered the very air entering his lungs. Dipper sighed.

"Guess I'm not as immune to Cali's sun as I used to be." He tried, hoping she'd drop the matter altogether. Miriam only grew tight, resting her hands on the kitchen isle when she responded.

"I _warned _you about staying hydrated; you're never too old to catch heat stroke." She repositioned herself behind the seat she'd once occupied, now with a gentle hand placed atop one of the chair's wooden knobs. "Come on, then. I'll get you some water." Miriam's arm went out, motioning for Dipper to bring himself over and have a seat.

But, where else might she have sat herself than beside her own husband? And, who else would she expect Dipper to place himself next to than his own stepfather? The brunette kept himself in place, unmoving, hugging himself much, much closer than before. Even as Miriam emphasized him to take a seat next to John by patting the cushion, and a bit of her empathy turned into impatience. He simply put his hands up and laughed.

"I'll stand." Dipper smiled with panicked lips, shoulders bunching in protest. Miriam pet the seat more firmly.

"It looks like you're about to pass out, dear. Do you feel lightheaded?"

"No." He'd barely replied before Miriam was opening her mouth once more, mistaking his hesitance for modesty.

"You should still sit." She nodded her head towards the chair. "I don't want you knocking something over if you faint."

"I'll be careful." Dipper countered, fighting against the heavy pull of his lifted lips. His smile was weak, hands pointed palms-down, brow warding off even a slight crease of the skin. What little attention Dipper had given his mother was from eyes alone, all else trained on the seat just right of where Miriam asked him to rest. Occupied by a body clad in a tacky V-neck and tight, young jeans. Gaze set low when John hunched forward to take a sip of his cooling drink; sharp, territorial.

'_This is not your seat._' An ounce of John's expression flexed before settling itself. '_This is not your home.'_

"I'm not asking." She extended her arm, beckoning Dipper over. "Come here. You're making me anxious."

"_Miriam_." John's smooth, jazzy tone felt rigid when he spoke against the curve of his glass, forcing the last bit of pigment in Dipper's skin to drain away. His nails dug into smooth flesh, leaving bare, darkening crescent marks in their wake. "Let the kid stand."

"But, _honey_." Miriam shifted her gaze with a pleading expression. "Just _look _at him."

As though a single glance in the brunette's direction would soften John's pitifully small heart, so he might finally realize what sort of damage had been done all those years ago. Just what kind of skin he'd bundled Dipper up in; how it squirmed for release, though tightening, harder and harder to flex through. He'd fashioned Dipper with the kind of flesh that curled away from touch. The kind of skin that had once craved smooth fingers, soft holds, and light tracings, now transformed into a body of rough, unforgiving needles.

As though that would embed John with conviction.

"He's white as a ghost." Miriam continued, working herself up in a way only familiar to the obsessive nature of a mother. Her hands flew off the seat she'd hoped to coerce Dipper into, now busying themselves on the hem of her apron. She rang out a handful of cloth as though drying it, all while pursing her lips awkwardly. "Don't act tough now, Mason. I wouldn't know what to do if you collapsed. Let me get you some water."

"Mom, _really-._" Dipper pleaded. A bit pathetically, by the way his voice broke along the tail end of each phrase. Through it, he and Mabel made a short, parted glance. One smooth, observant eye-up from his twin, who's head had been bent as far as it would go before, having tried to shield herself from Dipper's seemingly intrusive presence. A look, close to caring. _Closer _to alert, by the way her ears perked.

The two were farthest apart; Dipper, by the doorway. Mabel, seated at the other end of the room.

She allowed herself a single expression of concern before retracting once more from the scene. And Dipper felt it. A push back on his part, and a push away on hers. He'd never known a man could feel so stranded in his own home.

"Speaking of _water_," An arm wrapped around Dipper's waist, pulling him in. Or- _No_. Not an arm around the waist. Not actually. Not when he looked down dumbly to express his surprise in the touch. Not when Dipper's body braced itself in the firm, delicate hold. Not when he was certain- and pleased- he'd sensed his midsection being pulled in tight by this sweet, endearing warmth. When his eyes tracked down the cloth of his shirt, he found no arm. Still, the sensation was there. The briefest snippet of contact when Bill- very smoothly- cut in on the brunette's wavering tone.

An arm around the waist.

His voice was an arm around the waist.

Dipper hoped to commit the sensation to memory.

"I couldn't help but notice you're growing a garden outside, Miriam." The blond's arm went out, waving casually towards a window above her kitchen sink. Just outside the curtained glass, was a small, shriveled patch of pailing greens and yellows; what _remained _of her garden would have been far more accurate. She was not, by nature, a nurturing person.

Miriam cleared her throat, releasing the cloth from between her finger tips.

"Oh, _that_? No. No, no, no. It's just a-." She paused to rotate her hand in hopes of prompting an excuse. It embarrassed her to no end, noting the way they'd crinkled at the leaves; even more, knowing full well what others would think if they say that she'd backtracked on her fleeting attempt at planting. It was more than she could bear. Miriam had simply decided to let them dissolve in the summer sun, and crumble at the hands of ravaged insects, so long as no one felt like pointing it out.

"-a _hobby _of sorts. I'm not very invested in it." Her tone was indifferent, though the downward tilt of her head gave far too much away. She refrained from clearing her throat, while shame nestled within her lungs.

"Really? Well, that's too bad. They look lovely in your front lawn."

Which was a complete lie, and everyone but Miriam seemed to catch it. It had been subtle, of course. With that witty, confident charm of his, promising absolute trustability. Bill smiled with an upright demeanor about him, hardly having to roll his sleeves up before the woman was under his spell. She let out a playful scoff- pretended to brush the comment aside. In actuality, Miriam had taken the complement and shoved it under her feet; it made her feel all the more upright.

"You think?" She tossed a look over her shoulder, despite there being no vantage point to view what had survived sweltering California heat.

"Abso-_lutely_." Bill assured. With that poised chirp of his tone that got under Miriam's skin in all the right ways. The woman couldn't help but preen from the praise, even being so puffed up as to slick a delicate curl from her face so her radiance was more viewable. "You've got a real green thumb."

"Well,_ thank you_, Bill. That's very sweet of you." Miriam responded tweetishly, gracing her kind guest with a pearly smile. She'd always been one for praise. Bill surely knew, by the way he fluidly interjected himself into the scene. By his tempo of remarks and the simple, indulging casualty of phrasing. It was flowery; not in verbal bombardment, but rather in his tongue's honest agreeance. He pleased her ego as someone who'd known Miriam for years, touching on the few weak points of her person and strengthening them through admiration.

Miriam took a second to herself- picked a loose string from her shirt, taking quick, observant glances across the room to verify everyone had heard him- before reabsorbing herself into the previous issue at hand. "Anyway, _Mason-_." She brought her finger out, curling it in a '_come here' _motion.

Dipper hadn't noticed the placement of his attention, entirely spent on examining the sharp curvature of Bill's cheekbones as he'd spoken to Miriam. It hadn't even occurred to him that he'd only seen the blond's lips move. It hadn't crossed his mind that, while Bill didn't seem to be speaking in his direction, the brunette had been completely and entirely immersed in his presence. He hadn't heard the words, or trailed more than a snippet of their short exchange. Only felt it.

An arm around the waist.

_An arm around the waist._

An arm around the waist.

So that when someone finally addressed Dipper, and he was no more than a wide-eyed nobody, the sensation slipped from around him, and he instantly felt damp and distant and pale again. He crumbled under her light, touching gaze, even as Miriam's eyes persistently chanted '_compassion compassion compassion.'_

Bill continued.

"I've gotta say, though." He pulled each word with an almost-pained tingle. Like the usage of his lips were stiff and in disrepair. Miriam regifted him her full attention, face still aglow atop the pedestal he'd built her. The shine of her cheeks withered at Bill's conflicted expression. "I think they could use some watering."

Her rosey smile withered.

"Yes. Yes, that's right." Miriam admitted, clearing her throat. Humbled. Far too quickly, humbled. With the smooth snag of silk from beneath her feet, sliding out and forcing her to stumble against wobbling legs. But, she'd never allow herself to crash; the way Bill had so abruptly given her his approval, only to remove it- She would never let on how it had affected her. Instead, responded with words by someone who already knew better.

Her hand returned to the wooded knob of Dipper's waiting seat when she- calmly; cooly- averted her eyes from the blond man. Miriam fought off the waning pains of tattered pride, hoping to find solace in redirecting attention towards her otherwise sickly son. That finger flexed once more, head nodding for him to move in closer.

"If you'd like, I could always-." Bill began. Miriam was too quick to interrupt.

"Oh, no. That's fine. I'll do it myself." A tad bit cold. Not by anything deep-seeded. Simply petty, as she'd always been.

Bill acted taken aback by Miriam's reply; he'd never admit just how satisfying it was to witness first-hand that woman's face pale of its own accord, only to rise crimson red. She cleared her throat, suddenly embarrassed. It was unlike her to snap at a guest. It brought forth an otherwise poor twist to her gut when she tasted the tone she'd used against him.

Dampened, dampened, and down from her pedestal in seconds, Bill was swift to remold the broken pieces in his favor.

"In _this _heat?" He remarked, aghast. Hand placed dramatically across his chest, looking her up and down with both pity and astonishment. The unexpected choice of complaint instantly put Miriam's boiling shame to rest. Because, someone such as Bill could never take a woman's words harshly. He was sensible, afterall. _Empathetic_. He'd only been shocked to hear her turn his offer aware. Surely, she was a very impressive woman, then. Miriam smiled.

"You've been such a fantastic host. I'd feel guilty if you kept doing all the heavy lifting." Bill continued, persistently.

Build the pedestal.

Take it apart.

Remold.

"Well… I guess I _am _tired-." She sucked in a breath, once again tossing a glance over her shoulder, where her garden might be visible if exposed by a window.

"Then it's no trouble."

Smooth, loose letters, unlike his common trail of snide phrasing. Bill sounded more than happy to oblige. Miriam curled her lips in, simply mulling over her own lack of options; the pedestal set before her was not nearly as high as the last, but still offered as 2nd place to him.

"Are you sure?" She questioned finally, shields up with no more than thin, flimsy linen to protect herself.

"_Definitely_!" Was Bill's remark of triumph. If he'd thought Miriam would be a tough nut to crack, it didn't show on his face when he turned from the group, readying himself for the door. "We'll be _right _back."

He snagged Dipper by the collar of his shirt, and essentially _hauled _him like a dog down the corridor in one quick, smooth stride. Bill noted Miriam's muted stumble of protest, but wasn't so tempted that she'd give chase once they were outside, on the patio, sliding the screen door shut.

By then, Dipper was out of his little trance, instead hissing at the burn mark his chafing shirt collar had rubbed into vulnerable flesh. He placed a hand around his neck, massaging the abraded skin.

"_Jesus_. Finally, some fresh air." Bill sighed, leaning against the deck railing of Dipper's childhood home. "Talk to your mom about switching over to non-chemical cleaning supplies, will ya? That woman, I swear. I'm surprised she hasn't dunked you in a vat of Clorox yet."

Dipper said nothing.

Looking below him, Bill snorted at Miriam's pathetic excuse for a garden.

"Five bucks says she waters her peonies with Lysol. What says you?" He turned his back on the railing, leaning into it slyly. His hand slid into a pants pocket, coming out only once a compact white box was securely between his fingers. Bill was quick to slide a cigarette out and light it like nothing as perfect could ever be between his teeth. He spoke against the stick.

"And this _house. _Yeesh, kid. You'd think her ex never left the place, with all those family photos still hanging around. I can see why you booked it." Bill took a drag of his smoke.

He willed a peek from behind his rolled tobacco, hoping for a wisp of the brunette's amusement. But, the smaller didn't seem to hear him outdoors; didn't feel that arm around his waist. Only tried- failed- and tried again to regain his barings, despite its own elusiveness. Dipper looked puzzled. Pained, but puzzled. Discombobulated, definitely; in a way that was nearly deaf on the battlefield. Gazing out beyond the porch, into the yard, down the road, through the neighbor's lawn, and beyond the people who strolled by his home. He looked worn and tired. Dead on his feet.

Bill groaned, waving a hand in front of his face. It made Dipper blink; enough proof that _something _was in that head of his.

"You're _welcome, _by the way." He ground out. The cigarette in his hand, hardly burnt ⅔ of the way, was flicked into the garden, seamlessly catching fire to a poor, wilted marigold. A tiny flame bloomed where greenery had died, before burning out once the flower turned to ash. "I didn't have to bring you along."

Dipper stared out a bit longer, features stoick. A beat; his lips criss-crossed each other before pressing, curling and coming loose. He refused to look at Bill when he spoke.

"Thank you." It didn't sound like he meant anything, nor did it feel like he'd spoken. The taller groaned, rolling his head around in his hands.

"You know how nice it would've been to hear you say that a _month _ago?" Bill whined. "Come on. Don't be like that." He threw his hand out, waving at the outdoors like some brilliant spectacle of life. "You're outside, see? Who's gonna bully you here?" He waited a beat before adding on. "Besides me, of course."

Dipper shrugged, keeping himself outside of Bill's scope of expertise. Words. He was fantastic with words. _Not _fantastic with feelings. It made him itch in all kinds of unreachable places.

"No one." Dipper replied plainly. Bill tossed his head back.

"You're _sulking. _Christ, Dipper Pines is _sulking _again."

"Sorry."

The day was cool, sun peeking out only a quarter of the way, but sinking as surely as the Titanic. Crimson red. Tingles of orange. A smear of purple. Bill might've found it impressive at some point, if he hadn't seen it all. Dipper too, if he didn't hate how the colors contrasted his mood.

It was quiet then, with Dipper looking out ahead. To where? To nowhere. Only tracing over something that didn't exist, far, far away.

An arm around the waist.

An _actual _arm around the waist. Bill was warm to the touch; warmer still when he rested his chin against Dipper's shoulder.

"The world doesn't revolve around your problems, pinetree." Bill's tone was lame; unimpressed. He placed a chaste kiss against his neck. "I don't know why you keep dragging me into this shit. It's annoying, you know that?" A second kiss at the base of Dipper's chin. He didn't seem to feel it. Still, his hand went up reflexively to cradle the curve of Bill's cheek in his palm; hold him there.

"Yeah." A flock of geese flew in a crooked 'V' just east of them. Dipper didn't turn to observe. He didn't seem interested in the night sky, or the animals, or the people. His gaze was fixated on something completely disconnected from Piedmont. It was beyond anything he could ever hope to gain.

A moment away from this place.

A moment away from this home.

"Are you gonna water the flowers?" Dipper hummed out, finally breaking his stare to gaze down at the hunched backs of shrivelled nothings. Bill let out a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder.

"_Sure_. Kerosene?"

"No." Was Dipper's reply. His love snorted, pulling him in a bit closer.

"Nevermind, then."

They stayed like that for what could've been hours. Wasn't, of course. More so a good five minutes. A good, _good _five minutes, even with the brunette's eyes still glazed over in a distant daze, and the blond hating his own skin, which caved relentlessly at every opportunity to feel close. A moment more, Dipper began to squirm. Bill released his hold.

"How much longer?" The brunette asked. Timid in some twisted light that was otherwise resolved. His features remained indifferent, though the set of his mouth let on involuntary trembling.

"For what?" Bill questioned. Dipper said nothing; only weighed him with a look of deathly consequences. He gestured to the blond's right pocket, to which the other's hand flew to pat down. He felt the smooth exterior of a glass vial, and a lightbulb came on. Bill laughed. "Aren't you _thrilled_?"

Dipper's brows furrowed, giving a stern expression that would've worked on anyone but Bill. He crossed his arms with a stubbornness not unlike Miriam's, though with a consciousness of control far less abstract.

"_How much longer?_" Dipper persisted.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, birthday boy! It's not _my _party." Bill pet the outlining of the glass veil in his pocket with a bold smirk. He placed a hand against the brunette's cheek, far more reflexively than he'd ever admit, gifting him with a soft pinch of his skin. "I'll let _you _be the one in charge, ey? Consider it my gift to you; _just gimme the signal_."

Which made Dipper's healing skin drain of all blood far too soon. He wobbled half a second before regaining himself against the deck railing.

"Don't." Dipper ground out, shaking his head. "I'm not-. A _part _of this." He paused, doubting his own words with every fiber of his being. _That was a lie. That was a lie. That was a lie._ It pinched at his gut, hard. It made him see stars, the way he had John's very life in his hands. And, it'd been a dream up till that point to have the roles reversed so dramatically.

But, he couldn't.

Dipper wasn't that kind of man.

He didn't want to be that kind of man.

"You just- _do it_. Okay? Don't tell me when. Just-." He rolled his hands at Bill, imploring him. "-Figure it out. I don't know. I don't wanna know." Dipper lowered his head, shoulders up.

In that moment, even an hour within their plan's time slot, he could no longer invision this house without some kind of monster lurking around the corner. He couldn't imagine truly purging it of filth. Not anymore. Dipper had left when it all started. And now, being back after so many nights, he found his childhood home no longer stood where it once had.

It was new; refurbished. Dipper wasn't sure a spot still existed for him to fit into everything. Not with John in the house. Not with John _as _the house. In the new way Miriam chose her color pallets, and cooked his favorite dishes, and parked her car just left of his. Or, the young child now in her care, who would surely grow up to resemble his father, as fleeting as the connection may be. All of this made Dipper feel very odd about the situation. He was an intruder in his own home. An intruder, nonetheless.

"You sure? I'd be doing all the fun parts-."

"_Yes._" Dipper bit his lip at that; bunched his fists into his shirt. He took a deep breath, willing himself to meet Bill's playful gaze when he spoke. "Yes. I'm sure."

"Your loss." Bill shrugged, running a hand through his hair. "My win. The bitch had it coming." He smirked, nudging his shoulder against Dipper's, though unable to rouse more than a shaken glare.

"Please, stop talking."

The barest wisp of conversation could be heard through the kitchen window placed a short distance off; not close enough to make out anything in particular. Still, Dipper's ears perked up at the tune of Mabel's occasional commentary, and Miriam's contradictions, and John's-. Whatever it was John had. Nothing good, by the way the brunette's spine tingled sharply. If all else was for not, he could at least attest to this one truth.

That voice.

Dipper couldn't stand that voice.

"Does it make you happy?" The sun was down now. It was dark. The streetlights were on, as were the crickets alive in the backdrop of his tone. Bill leaned in, though refraining from skin to skin contact. He wasn't sure he enjoyed how his body got drunk off the heat. "Say it makes you happy."

The younger said nothing. Only blinked, looked his way, before looking back. Felt frost against his shoulders, and remembered how cold the nights could be. Colder still, dropping and dropping again. He caught vague lines of speech from inside the house. Unclear babble, seamed by volume and timing; what words could not describe.

_Dirty, dirty, dirty. _

He leaned in, lacing his fingers between Bill's.

"I'm happy." He lied, only to place a tactical kiss across the blond's lips- short, sweet, virgin- to keep Bill from latching onto his statement and ruining even an instance of that domestic moment.

A car pulled into the driveway just then, blinding them both against boiling white headlights. They were quick to step apart, hissing and cursing as their corneas burned in the abrupt brightness. Dipper, shielding his eyes. Bill, squinting, tilting away, while an odd part of him found pleasure in the stabbing sensation. They retreated farther up the patio, near the home entrance, taking refuge from the shine.

The windows rolled down, lights snapped off, a hand sliding out the driver's side to wave at them. Dipper's eyes were down, rubbing themselves raw against his fists in an attempt to dispel the white spots dancing over his vision. He groaned, squeezing them shut, before opening again, trying to readjust to the darkness. It only took a second for him to identify the mysterious car's driver. Dipper's face brightened questionably, with a spirit of disbelief not common among his features. He broke out in a grin, placing himself on the top step of the patio.

"_Dad?"_ Dipper called out to the dark figure, currently dusting his pant legs of clinging crumbs. The man's head went up, a smile the brunette hadn't encountered face-to-face in over a year, to expose the aged, yet youthful glow of fair hair, stubble and intelligent spectacles perched atop the bridge of his nose.

He was a tall man, though slouched to a degree that cost him an inch. Curls of hair along either arm, glowing gold against the spray of light from Miriam's home. A wide, propper chest, though shrunken in comparison to the long tradition of Pines and their otherwise broad frames among males; traits which neither he nor his son shared to their fullest potential.

Daniel Pines smiled, bridging the distance from car to son.

"Who else?" The grown man laughed, bright as he was, with the untainted mirth of a child. He stopped just short of the deck's staircase, easing a shoulder into its post. "Santa Clause?" Dipper's smile stretched.

"I didn't know you'd be coming." The brunette mimicked his father's pose, propping himself against a sturdy rod of painted white maple. "Nobody told me."

Daniel spread his fingers then, shoulders shrugged, lips pulled tight across his features with a goofy expression that said nothing short of '_surprise!'_

"Mabel called, saying you two'd _actually _be in the same state to celebrate this year; had to see it for myself." His father joked, tossing a hand up to gesture Dipper's way. "And, here you are, in the flesh." Daniel mused with a grin.

Dipper's own smile dampened, as his father's good-natured heart reached out and lathered him with sudden shame.

"In the flesh." He agreed, looking at his feet. He coughed into his hand, a sudden heat breaking out across his skin. The collar of Dipper's shirt felt oddly constricting, so he tugged at its fabric, only to realize how uncomfortable that made him look. "Was the drive over okay?"

"As always." Daniel shrugged in disinterest. He placed his left leg on the first step, angling himself to approach the bodies ahead of him. "You've got a stowaway, Mason." Is what Daniel follows up with, instead of whatever smalltalk Dipper had been trying to nudge him towards. He nodded his head at the blond behind him, who had a hand placed against the banister, just short of brushing fingers with the brunette.

"I prefer _'partner_.'" Bill quipped half-heartedly.

It gave Daniel pause; he stared at the man, off kilter, disconnected, trying to make sense of it all with a slight twitch of his nose. His expression was hesitant; defensive. The moment passed, and his features became compliant.

"Mabel didn't say anything about extra guests." His father commented, to which Dipper reflected the man's '_surprise!'_

"He wouldn't have let me leave, otherwise."

Bill elbowed his side. "You wouldn't have lasted two seconds without me."

"Maybe." Dipper shrugged, honestly. The smile across his lips was playful, if not an ounce numbing. Nonetheless, Daniel laughed at his son's tone before passing his attention off to Bill once again.

"He's not usually so agreeable." His father mused with a wide grin, to which the blond snickered.

"_Trust_ me, I know." Bill placed a tactical hand over Dipper's shoulder, almost petting. It was demeaning in an oddly pleasant way. "Give it time. He'll be back to chewing me out within the hour." He gave the smaller's shoulder a sturdy pat before stepping back, and Dipper allowed it. He kept his distance, as much as he would have _loved _forcing that hand around the curve of his hip.

"You say it like I'm looking _forward _to it." Dipper snorted. He pulled away from the deck's post, moving instead to press his entire back against the collumb of wood opposite. A bit of life swirled beyond the vacancy in his eyes, though vacant still. He flexed his foot, lifting it to tap Bill's shin with just enough force to emulate affection. Perhaps something just short of it, but there. Daniel trailed the motion- noted the way Bill's features shined- without saying a word.

"_Aren't_ you?" He addressed Daniel. "_Isn't_ he?"

"Definitely." Dipper's father pressed with a casual lift of his shoulders.

He was friendly, Bill decided then. And good company. A bit purseptive, though. He couldn't help but notice how Daniel watched them a bit _too _closely. It would be bad for business if the grown man caught onto their little evening plans. Even more so if he threatened legal action. Prison time for attempted murder wasn't on Bill's list of things to do; Dipper's either, though he could stand the idea of his pinetree in a pair of cuffs from time to time.

"Like father, like son?" The blond offered jokingly, with a quirked eyebrow that still prompted an answer. Daniel shrugged smuggly.

"I like a good debate. Arguing keeps it interesting." Which was fairly ironic, coming from the divorced man. Still, it came out happily, and in such a way the activating sounded borderline encouraging. Bill slid Dipper an inquisitive glance of his own, to which the younger could only smile back. He tilted his head, averting his gaze, and that seemed answer enough.

'_Like father, like son.'_

"You'll have to show me sometime."

"You're _that _smart?" Daniel joked. Bill crossed his arms cheekily.

"Are _you_?"

Again, Daniel paused, simply to look at the blond before him. His lips snagged in a lopsided smirk, though his eyes retained every last ounce of observant intrigue. A hand on his hip; squinted with heavy pupils. A chuckle caught in his throat when he viewed Bill like some complex puzzle. He seemed to be rolling something around in his head when finally- appeased to some extent- Daniel ascended the stairs, reaching a hand out for the blond to grab.

"I like to think so." He replied laxly, fingers extended out to the blond. "Daniel Pines. Nice to meet you." Bill was quick to reciprocate.

"Bill Angle. I'm your son's-."

"I've got a pretty good idea of who you are." Which seemed to shut Bill up in more ways than one. A silence fell over him as he, very cautiously, took the human's hand in his own. Shook; gripped like he was handling a live grenade. Examined the texture and tight stitching of human flesh. Very curious. Very strange. He was too quick about releasing him.

"Psychic, are we?" Bill asked, half-serious. That made Daniel snort.

"I've been called worse."

"Like?"

"_Divorced_." It got a pretty unflattering cackle out of the one-eyed man. All worth it, by the way Daniel preened in approval, shoving either hand into his pockets before propping himself against painted-white railing. His face was self-satisfied, though Dipper grew pale and paler still from his father's deprecating humor. The youngest said nothing, opting instead to stand silently and hope to sink far enough away that he wouldn't be able to hear anything else.

"I'd expect nothing less." Bill nodded finally, wiping away a tear of mirth. His head tilted, angling itself to peek at Dipper, who looked amazingly stiff in their presence, even as Daniel made light of his failed marriage.

Here, father and son diverged.

By both methods of coping, and will to accept life's undonting defeat. Dipper's unwillingness to look disaster in the face and remark- absolutely. Without a doubt- that these things did happen, and they would _continue _to happen despite varying strategies, and life was specifically designed as a struggle of trial, was a flaw known to him since forever. And although coming to terms with many different inconveniences within the last month, he still found himself trapped to some extent.

Unlike his father, who thrived on hope, and thrived on community, and thrived on allowing the pain to seep away into a transitional period, Dipper found his main fuel came from bits of glass still on the floor of his unfortunate history; not properly swept away. The larger chunks, disposed of. Still, small, microscopic bits nipping vulnerable skin, which had been unswept and unseen for him to eventually come across and cry out from. So he might break skin, transport glass into his person, and carry it around.

Dipper cleared his throat pointedly.

"Mom's probably waiting for us inside." He threw a thumb behind him for emphasis. Bill, who despite being an unagreeable bastard, couldn't help but nod and confirm. They'd been outside a bit too long for flowers; anyone with an ounce less ego might think nothing of it. But, Miriam was punctual. She could- and would- take it personally if her guests slipped out of her charming presence, and spent it cultivated amongst themselves. Bill couldn't risk offending her; not when he'd put effort in to gain her respect. It would be a stab at his _own _ego.

"Are we boring you, pinetree?" The blond countered, poking fun at the human, even as his own body made a slow turn for the door. He took his recommended steps to reach the entrance, hand placed against the knob. "We're boring him, Daniel."

"Don't take it too hard. It's not science. It's not mystery; If he has to listen to whatever this is, he'd rather do it on a couch." Dipper's father answered before the brunette could open his own mouth in protest.

It was an old habit of Daniel Pines'; talking for others. He was fantastic at reading people, after all. Fantastic at talking, which his son was not. Though, that may have had to do heavily with the fact that Dipper's father never gave him the _opportunity _to. For, every time the younger was about to speak, Daniel seemed to sense the hesitation and pounce for it before words could properly form. So much so, that even as he grew older, Dipper found himself stuck on vowels of stammering nonsense, and bits of speech that just wouldn't connect right. Though, Daniel never noticed. Dipper spoke just _fine _around Daniel.

"Now, that's just hurtful." Bill sighed, twisting the door knob. He pulled it open, stepping aside for Dipper. "After I've given you my undivided attention, too." His head lowered, tutting at the brunette as he pushed himself off the wooden panelling, hands in his pockets, ready to go back inside. "Come on then, you snob. Let's find you a couch to die on." Bill's hand wound up in a circle, trying to herd Dipper in like a child. Though sulking, he followed directions and began approaching the entrance.

"Oh, but hey." Daniel's arm stretched out in front of him- a long, gentle appendage- to block his son's path. "You and I haven't talked yet." His arm went around the juncture of Dipper's neck, just short of squeezing. A lazy, limp hand slung over his shoulder like a backpack strap, fingers snapping at the side of his face for attention.

"Yeah, we did." Dipper snorted, trying to push the man off. Daniel only got closer.

"I talked to your _partner._" His father corrected, nodding towards said blond. "I haven't gotten any real conversation out of _you._"

"So, ground me."

"That's exactly what I'd like to do." He pet his shoulder before releasing Dipper.

Daniel was a direct man. Some would argue _too _direct. He didn't like beating around the bush, unlike his ex, who never could bear the possibility of saying something upfront, in fear of offending. No, he was very forward with his feelings; his expectations; his curiosity. When he asked to talk with his son, it was done in a way that even the most socially inept souls would understand; he meant talking _alone_. For whatever reason, alone. Bill was no exception it seemed, for once he diagnosed the tone- the posture of Daniel's back, the odd flex of his index- he was too quick about leaving them be. A friendly '_see ya inside, slick'_ and the blond was excusing himself easily. Probably off to feed Miriam's ego.

The silence that followed felt anything but awkward between the two. If at all, it was a familiar kind of silence that Dipper could navigate. There was structure in the way Daniel refused to open first. Instead, loaned his son the key. A cheeky smile; a bit offset by the slightly washed out white of his cheeks. Daniel's hands, a tad clammy. And, if Dipper weren't any smarter, he might have mistaken his gaze as one of disappointment.

The silence's welcome wore itself thin, and Dipper finally forced himself to take the key, and unlock conversation.

"How much of that did you see?" Was his opening line. By the way his father hummed, but did not laugh, it was apparent he already knew what the younger was referring to.

"Depends; how much do you plan on telling me?" Daniel countered. He clasped a hand around the cuff of his own sleeve, rolling it up to the elbow. "Am I in on the secret? _Is _there a secret, or did I just not get the memo you like lip-locking boys on your mother's patio?"

Dipper hissed. Then groaned. Then threw his head back and croaked into his cupped hands before snapping forward with a tight sigh. It was just his luck to kiss a _guy _at his mom's _house _where people could drive by and _see_. That explained Daniel's weirdly weighted look at Bill the entire time; not suspicious of anything. More confused. In the only way a father who'd seen his son introduce him to _several _girls in high school could be.

_Maddy Becks; hadn't she been a nice one? A bit rough and tumble, but polite. Might've made a nice summer romance._

_Cynthia Gronds; pretty poor manors, and maybe too wild for taiming, though there was a good heart underneath. Mason seemed to like her a lot. She liked getting her hands dirty._

_Rosey Wendell; a big, brawny girl. Tall and bulky, but strangely slender in dresses. Long, pretty hair, but with a face unfortunately square. Handsome. Not that any girl would want to hear 'handsome.'_

"God, dad. Don't say it like _that._" Dipper begged, pinching the bridge of his nose. He averted his gaze. "We're being discreet, alright?"

"You were kissing on the porch-."

"_Trying _to be discreet. _Trying, _dad. Jesus fuck."

"Don't curse, Mason." Daniel warned cooly, forcing the other to groan in annoyance.

"Okay. _Alright_." Dipper combed a hand through his hair; propped his elbows over the house's railing. "Sorry."

Looking out over the patio's hooding, he could make out a few dark, curved clouds. He wondered if it might rain. And if it did, whether or not that would nourish Miriam's garden. He doubted the water was enough.

"How'd Miriam take the news?"

"She _didn't _take it. I don't plan on telling her." Dipper sighed, leaning more heavily against the railing. His ears picked up distant, greedy thunder, and an odd kind of dread overcame him. "You know mom. She's-." He rolled his hand through the air. "-Religious. And a perfectionist. She's been expecting grandkids since _Wendy_."

Daniel's curious face softened to a degree, forcing a wall of uncertainty to build between them. The older man cleared his throat, rubbed the back of his neck, and mused to the open air.

"I'm guessing you and her are a no-go now."

Dipper shrugged sadly, busying himself with the skin of his nails. "It wouldn't have worked out, anyway. She felt awkward about the age gap."

"What? Two years?" His father laughed. Dipper shot him a dirty look.

"_Three _years." He corrected. Daniel just chuckled.

"Ah, I see. I see. You were in middle school when she was in high school. You were in high school when she was in college." He said it like the numbers meant nothing. And, perhaps that was true. But it meant something to _her, _and it meant a lot throughout their entire relationship, beginning to end.

Dipper readied himself to reprimand his tone, when Daniel cut in quickly.

"So… _Men_, then?" His expression remained playful, if not a bit stiff. It wasn't so much in pain that the features hardened. Instead, in hopes of starving off whatever surprise tried to expose itself. Daniel hadn't planned on it. His reaction wasn't ideal. He wasn't _prepared _to find out about this, or see his son love another man, or even know it was a _possibility. _Nonetheless, he hoped to deliver his support as well as he could. "Dating women twice your age just didn't do it for you, huh?"

"She was only _three years_ older than me!" Dipper's cheeks prickled crimson as he turned on the man, giving him a rough shove away.

"Oh, so it's _'only_' three years now?" His father laughed, moving in to slide next to Dipper. His son scooted away.

"_No_, it's-. She's-. Age wasn't the problem. Age was never the problem."

"Well, I can see that _now._" The smile across Daniel's face was humorous. In part because, again, he used every one of life's curveballs as fuel for happiness. Now was no exception. He grinned, snickering, even as Dipper rolled his eyes, mumbling something that resembled a vulgar term, but couldn't have been.

The wind picked up, and the hot, wet feel of precipitation dotted their skin.

"Yeah." The younger huffed with dreary eyes. "Guess it's kinda obvious."

"But, really. When were you gonna tell me? I'd already gotten my tux all pressed for when you and Wendy-." Dipper threw his arms up all of a sudden, before slamming his hands down, palms-first, to look at Daniel in distaste.

"Okay, could you _not _keep bringing her up? _Please?_" The desperate, strained look scrawled on his face seemed to give more than enough insight to how much the whole situation tore him apart. Dipper's head went down then, hand raised to rub circles along his cranium. Daniel's smirking lips fell apart when he cleared his throat and decidedly backed away. He checked his watch with quirking lips.

"I just wanna-." Dipper's hands flew out. "I don't know. I wanna take that whole relationship back. It was such a _mess, _and I was stupid." He paused, shaking his head. "I was really stupid."

"You're not stupid."

"Thanks."

A flash of light from afar; the jagged, crooked line of light zigzagging its way through the clouds. Daniel cleared his throat.

"And that Bill guy. He seems pretty smart. You've got good taste." The father waited a beat, shifting from one foot to the other. He rocked back on his heels, catching fist in palm like a baseball. "Does he make you happy?"

Dipper laughed.

"He makes me wanna rip my hair out; I don't think I could've found a _worse _partner."

"I guess he's just lucky you gave him the time of day, then."

It gave the brunette pause when his eyes- very sad. Very foggy- gazed down at Miriam's wilted garden and couldn't help but parallel their relationship to it; some dried, shrivelled seed. It had been a bad idea to plant. It was a bad idea trying to keep things up.

"We're not gonna last, dad. You don't have to like him."

"But, I _do_." He knocked Dipper on the shoulder. "He's friendly."

"He's a pain."

"That just makes it obvious you're crazy about him." Daniel shrugged truthfully.

Dipper startled.

Then sputtered.

Tried to object.

Fell flat.

Fell silent.

He sighed, lowering his head into the folds of his arms.

"I'm not trying to feel like this." Dipper spoke through the muffling fabric of his sleeves. He lifted his head, chin rested in the bend of his elbows. "I'm not _trying _to like guys."

"Which only solidifies it." The sky let on a tinted purple shade, followed by a handful of raindrops. Neither of the two men stepped back from the wetness.

"Does it bother you?"

There was that silence again. The pitter-patter of rain. The distant rumble of lightning strikes. The low squeak of Daniel who couldn't keep his feet still; had to shuffle from side to side, fiddle with the dial of his watch, scratch his neck. All of a sudden, they were the same, unsure person. His father took a moment to himself, mulled over each word, before rolling his sleeves down and rebuttoning them to either wrist.

"If I'm being honest?" He drew out slowly; painfully. His chest heaved, face a shade whiter than before. He tried wetting his tongue, despite the deepening dry of his mouth. "I would have never guessed. I never thought-." Daniel tilted his head. "I mean, you were _never _crazy about girls-." His fingers flexed against hardwood. "And maybe your BABBA phase should've tipped me off, but it didn't." He smiled jokingly, facing his son with a tease in hand. When Dipper did no more than stare back- a distinct expression of hurt- Daniel straightened out.

"I always just assumed-. You know. You'd be-." He rolled his hand, hoping for input from the other. His son offered a meek '_normal?' _to which Daniel was avid about denying. "_Straight_. I just thought you'd be _straight."_

Dipper held his gaze for a second before lowering his head, but his father was quick to chase.

"Everyone I know's straight, Mason. It's nothing about _you. _There's nothing wrong with you. I'm just-. The next generation's always a little different, right? You kids have your weird interwebs and com-pu-tors. I grew up on encyclopedias, alright? Don't cancel an old geezer for getting it wrong."

The wind picked up, whistling through a patch of maples. It taught on the tail of fresh green leaves, forcing them from their branches. In it, they flew to the ground, the roof, the streets. From the fresh, damp comfort of aged branches. Sturdy, but aged.

"So, it bothers you then. A little." Dipper stated passively. He felt the cool breath of air passing through his clothes, and simply let it. His chest heaved, hardened, and released itself with a creaking pain not previously explored by him. Not rejection, but something similar. An oldened push back that seemed to separate the two men by trench. Distanced not by empathy, but time.

"You're my son, Mason." Daniel combatted. A sturn, steady tone then that might fight off even the smallest of doubts in it. Not just '_you're my son.'_

'_You're my pride.'_

'_You're my blood.'_

'_You're my breath.'_

He tested a firm hand on Dipper's shoulder, forcing his face up from its lowered position.

"That hasn't changed. Me _caring _about you hasn't changed." The hand used to grip his son tightened, giving his body a motivated shake. He looked more intensely at the brunette, fighting hopelessly against his own misconceptions.

_This is my son, and he is gay. This is my son, and he is gay. This is my son, and he is gay._

"And- I trust your judgement, Mason. You and him? Maybe it won't work." He gave the statement a shrug, like either scenario was indifferent to him. For whatever reason, that simple pinch- the way he treated it as something _ordinary. _Something _casual_\- had Dipper shining on a level not before existent. He watched on, suddenly broken by a tiny grin.

"But _you'll _work. Just you being you." Daniel insisted, wagging a finger at the boy. "You're a mess, but you're a _smart _mess, you got that?"

Dipper snorted. Smiled ear to ear with tinged cheeks. Lowered his head to twiddle his thumbs and appear downright bashful. The hand on his shoulder clapped him once before sliding away.

"Yeah, I got it." Dipper spoke through flexed cheeks, the twinkle of a laugh sawing his words. Daniel blinked once. Ruffled the younger's hair and patted his cheek.

"You'd better."

The heavy drizzle of rain picked up, quickly building into a full-blown storm. Lightning, closer now. But, not at all intimidating from under the patio. Two men, bone dry below their roof, but growing spotted and damp along their collared shirts.

Dipper looked at Daniel. Daniel looked at Dipper. A connection was there. A snug, reassuring pump of something that wasn't the complete bending of will- wasn't the forced conversion of an older, conservative generation. Instead, simple, compliant love for differences. The way one's dimples smoothed in, and another's nose poked out, and their ears were a bit too big or a bit too small, their hands a tinge pinker than the rest on the palms. But, still loved the look, and loved the feel, and couldn't help but gather up all those strange differences and admire them in a way not-at-all conventional; not at all expected.

The first to break was Dipper, who was swift about wrapping his arms around Daniel's neck. His father complied effortlessly.

"You're smart, Mason." Daniel assured, giving his back a firm _pat-pat_. "I know you know what's best for yourself, and I trust that. I trust you to be good." The words felt heavy, nestling deep within Dipper's gut. A weighty, haunting phrase when his father, sure of the goodness of his own son, confirmed the very thing Dipper couldn't. "I trust you to make the right choices."

Dipper began to feel pale again.


	40. The Poison

If it hadn't been made clear before, Miriam and Daniel Pines were divorced.

Not just divorced.

_Divorced._

Separate homes. Separate states. Separate holidays. Separate _kids, _which neither twin had been briefed on beforehand. Not that it came as a surprise; hadn't Dipper and Mabel already gone through this before? Hadn't it been just like this the first time- before the split up, the moving states, the step dad- when their parents were often found fighting for their children's favoritism?

Back then, it'd only been subtle things; Miriam's light, but rewarding praise. Daniel's encouraging words. It had raised the two more than their actual teamwork as parents had, which would easily explain why Dipper and Mabel were- one way or another- mildly disturbed. Since they'd been raised by words, not parents, and been given orders, not direction. It had in fact made them very, very odd.

And now was only slightly different from before. Inside their old childhood home, it hadn't occurred to Dipper that the four of them were collectively sharing air they hadn't shared in almost a decade. Which felt both invasive and strangely perverse. Like before, Daniel and Miriam Pines had their own territory, and even their presence mingling after such a period divided felt wrong.

When Dipper and his father entered the house, they instantly broke off into the family living room, away from Mabel and Miriam, who were seated in the kitchen. And, when the two adult's eyes linked, there wasn't so much as a spark between them. Just the subtle glance from one parent to the other; a slight rise of their brow, the identical form of initial shock, followed after by a billowy, silent agreement to stay civil. A distant smile from one, replied to with a light nod of the other's head.

There was peace about their relationship.

Still, a competition.

Miriam scooted a bit closer to Mabel, reaching to pet her hand in what was surely affection.

Daniel pulled Dipper's shoulder against his own as he spoke.

A room away, blocked off by two walls. But, competition.

Daniel sat next to his son on the old, worn down couch in the living room he'd once helped model. He had initially raised a brow at how untouched everything looked; not a thing moved since the divorce. After a time of scanning, he noticed how Miriam had scratched out his face in each family photo, and his curious- perhaps flattered- brow softened humorously. He chuckled.

"Must not've been my good side." Daniel mused, lifting a framed photo he'd been particularly fond of at some point. At least from what he _remembered_. It had been a closeup of him and Mabel, cheek-to-cheek, now scribbled in with sharpie. Marker bled across his blocked-out face onto an edge of her skin, making the familiar image look messy and worn. His lip twitched at this, and he looked as though he might say something cross. A sniff of the nose, followed by a low laugh when he rubbed a thumb over the frame before setting it back down. "You kids, though. I'm glad she didn't scribble either of you out."

"She wouldn't." Dipper countered, a bit hesitant. Daniel smiled back warmly. A kind of knowledge shone behind those eyes of his, and naivety seemed to be all the more present within the young brunette. Dipper had said it like he didn't _believe _it. Which made his father ache. Just a little.

"She wouldn't." Daniel confirmed without an ounce of uncertainty. "What's a picture without her kids in them?"

"A picture." Dipper shrugged.

"_Just _a picture." Daniel corrected. He put a confident hand on his son's shoulder, squeezing it lightly. And, in his gaze, in those gentle eyes of his, Dipper caught the tail end of pride; compassion. When his father's thumb pressed into bone- palm soothing- he could feel the very energy of Daniel's unyielding reassurance. Not necessarily in Miriam's love, but in Dipper's character.

Who would throw out a picture of _him? _Why, he was the most fantastic man to ever grace God's green earth, that hand told him. Miriam wouldn't dream of it, his fingers reassured. He was the perfect son, spoken through Daniel's palms.

This man could do _no wrong_.

Dipper shuddered, sliding away from his father's touch, just enough to let those fingers on his shoulder roll off. He kept his impression of indifference up; lips lax and eyes calm, to act as though shying away from physical contact wasn't such a big deal. Which might have been the case back then.

Back in New York, in that crumby one-story flat, when Dipper had been no more than fifteen. He was so young- Daniel thought- in comparison to the man he was currently sharing the living room couch with; who now towered over him by a quarter inch.

Younger still when he reminisced on the time they'd spent sharing that flat, and how much of it had felt so alien. He had only realized too late how unprepared he was to be a single father, and how Dipper had been difficult, and refused to pack his swim trunks for their day trip to the water park, because he felt uncharacteristically sensitive to anyone noticing him wet, half-dressed, or vulnerable.

He'd been so nonsensical back then, Daniel decided; all those times he'd tried checking in on his son, only to find the bedroom door was locked, and realizing later on that Dipper's door didn't _have _one, and he'd simply barricaded it shut. When his son had suddenly dropped his shorts fad; begged his father to take him cloth-shopping for baggy jeans, to which he obliged a bit reluctantly.

What's more, the distance between them was strong. And the single time his father had come up behind him- tapped his shoulder on the couch to see if he was awake- how Dipper had flipped out. Jerked off of the cushions. Knocked his head against the coffee table. Scrambled to his feet, and turned around like a deer caught in headlights. So fast then. When he held that gaze for a few seconds, still drowsy and off kilter, before realizing who it was that had touched him. And Dipper melted on his feet; relaxed. Relaxed some more. Sat back on the couch and soaked into the sofa. Laughed when Daniel asked if everything was alright. Smiled and reassured. Laughed again, before breaking into a raging sob.

He'd reached out then, to place a hand on that shoulder of his, but Dipper pulled back like it'd been a raised fist. The contact died. Those fingers shrivelled away.

Now felt no different. Though they'd built up Dipper's tolerance for touch over the years- sophomore to junior to senior, in each case trying to persuade his son into professional counselling, but the brunette had inherited too much of his mother's self-reliance- some things still felt off limits. Here especially.

Daniel tried to reset his hand on Dipper's shoulder, (perhaps hoping the subtle sliding away had been unintentional) only for the action to be repeated. And his father tested Dipper with a steady gaze. And Dipper tested it right back with his indifferent expression, which might've cracked under the pressure, if Daniel weren't so damn soft with him.

They didn't need words to ask, _'What the hell is this?'_ What was happening now felt too familiar to be anything but a relapse. Though, hadn't he been just _fine _around that Bill fellow? Hadn't he been alright with that arm around his neck?

Maybe so, but he hadn't felt quite so dirty then.

Dipper hadn't felt quite so contagious.

"I heard Mr. Arbuckle's retiring soon." Daniel offered slyly.

Forward. Always forward, that Daniel Pines. Dipper's features soured at the comment, eyes looking up then away with disdain.

A psychologist.

Mr. Arbuckle was a _psychologist_.

"O-_kay_?" Dipper moved back, giving what his father would consider too much space now, though he'd be able to reach him almost as easily as before.

"I remember you liked seeing him when you were younger."

"I _had _to see him." Dipper's tone was strained; resentful. It made Daniel's gut twitch an ounce. "For the nightmares."

"Night _terrors._" His father challenged. Dipper slit his eyes.

"Night_mares._" He shot back, arms crossed. "Do you really feel like having that argument again?"

Daniel's gaze, observant as ever, couldn't help but feel those arms over Dipper's chest had been placed as protection. He wasn't a big guy- tall, maybe, but otherwise lithe- so that when he folded either elbow to tuck himself up, Dipper only came off as defensive, not stern, and stubborn, not tough. Still, his father knew when to back off. Because they'd had that argument before, and Dipper's arms _had _been crossed, and he'd run himself ragged trying to explain to his son that the dreams he'd been haven't _weren't _normal, and things _weren't _alright with him, and he _should _seek help outside of Dipper's school counselor. And Dipper'd gotten defensive; accused Daniel of thinking he was crazy, or wanting to send him away, or felt his son had changed over that one summer.

Daniel had dropped it then.

Daniel dropped it now.

He pulled back a bit, leaning away to view his son properly; waged those crossed arms. Sighed, adjusted his glasses and let it go.

"Alright then. Nightmares." Dipper's face relaxed again, and he returned to neutrality. "And you used to see Mr. Arbuckle for treatment."

"_Assessments, _dad. Come on." His face went back to souring. A hand wiggled itself out of Dipper's bent elbows, where he promptly tousled his own hair in frustration; he'd always had unruly locks, making for messy bangs he could hide behind when necessary. Looking out from under brown tufts of hair, Dipper's eyes held nothing short of guarded pride. "It wasn't a _disease._"

Daniel's pause was a bit too long. He licked his lips before speaking again.

"No, no. 'Course not." Another pause; the uncomfortable shift in his seating position, followed by a subtle clear of his throat. "I'm just saying. You seemed a lot better after his visits. Less-." He raised his hand, curling in fingers as though to capture something that didn't yet exist. A word he couldn't quite place. "-Unhappy."

"I wasn't _not _happy before seeing him."

"You were tired."

"I always _am_."

"_More _tired." Desperation spiked through Daniel's voice when he spoke. His body moved in on instinct- to be closer to his son, the object of his yearly concern- before remembering itself with three paces back. "I know you don't like hearing it Mason, but it freaked me out when you came back like that." The fed up gesture he made at his son with those words; it cut Dipper in ways he hadn't prepared for.

"It was _one _summer, dad." The boy protested with pleading eyes. "I'm fine now. I'm really, _really _fine, and the last thing I feel like doing for my birthday is having the _same _conversation about going in for a goddamn _diagnosis_."

"_Mason-_." Daniel warned. His son was quick to beat him to the punch.

"'Don't curse,' I _know_." Dipper leaned his head back. "I'm sorry; I know that. I'm sorry."

They'd had the same conversation _again._

That was what he was _really _sorry for.

Whatever was wrong with him- whatever Daniel wanted fixed- he hadn't figured out, and Dipper still wasn't exactly sure _how to. _

"I'm not asking for a lot here, Mason. Am I?" Daniel sighed, rolling his head in his hands. "We keep _talking _about it because I _care _about getting you help. I don't wanna be all heavy-hearted over this on your birthday, but it's not like I get much other chance to catch up with you, what with your work and mine."

"Dad, _please."_

"You're acting _weird_, Mason. _There_, I said it." Daniel threw up his arms with a laugh, like what he'd said had been some passive joke on his part. But, it was harty. The last words he wanted for Dipper's 23rd birthday. But, he said it nonetheless, and with a peaceful glint in his eye to prove it'd been said, sound of mind.

That seemed to worry the older man even more.

"Why does it feel like you're distancing yourself here? Where's Mabel?"

Daniel tossed his head over his shoulder, knowing perfectly well she was stuck in the kitchen with Miriam. Which felt super _wrong. _He knew that. Coming in, it'd been a huge red flag when Dipper didn't ask Mabel to join them; he always _did. _And, perhaps it was Daniel's memory serving him poorly- it wasn't. He was no fool- but, that passing glance between them when they'd crossed the threshold of the kitchen into the living room had been tough and burnt on all sides. Daniel felt it, the way Mabel's eyes caught sight of Dipper and _poured _with dread. Dipper, dampened. Indifferent, but dampened.

"You treat it like you don't know each other, Mase. You gotta admit, that's weird."

"Oh, so the _one _time she doesn't feel like trailing my ass-."

"_Mason."_

"I'll _stop _now, okay? I promise, I'll stop swearing now." He took a second to recollect himself. "The one time she doesn't feel like _tagging along, _it suddenly means something's _wrong_?"

"I didn't say that." Daniel countered, making Dipper scoff.

"Well, what _are _you saying?"

"I'm saying something's _off _today, alright? Maybe nobody else is seeing it. Maybe I'm just being hyper-sensitive, or I'm reading the room wrong, but-. Darn it, Mason. _Are _you alright today? _Really_? I can't help but feel you're about to do something crazy."

"And _there _it is." Dipper groaned poorly. "Crazy. You think I'm _crazy. _Why does it always come back to that?"

"It _doesn't._ I'm just concerned." Before he could stop himself, Daniel's hand shot out for Dipper's, clasping tightly to the palm still tucked around the brunette's torso. A knee-jerk reaction had Dipper's fingers slicing away, out of his grip, followed after by an excessively guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach when Daniel- hurt, slow, but prepared- backed up again. His father leveled a piercing gaze, to which his son was unable to hold.

"I wish you'd _tell _me when things are bad, alright?" His hand went out once more before retracting itself.

"Nothing's _wrong_."

"It _feels _wrong, Mason." Daniel shook his head with a heavy tilt; he took in a breath, held it, and huffed with near pain. Adjusting his glasses, he attempted to get each word in order; to not screw this up. To not scare his son. "I-. Something feels _wrong _here. And, I just-. I'm not sure, alright, but I get the feeling you're not yourself right now."

"But I _am, _dad."

"I _know_." Daniel ran a hand up his face, pulling with it bits of excess skin that was beginning its slow descent into age. He looked weathered, yet firm. Stressed, but wise. Adjusting his glasses one last time, the older man tried to force it down; whatever it was he wanted to say; _needed _to. It tired him, this conversation, and his son was nowhere near admitting anything. As much as he wanted to, Daniel just couldn't will himself to pry Dipper open anymore than he already had.

He lifted himself, placing his body one cushion seat away.

"Alright; I know. You're right, you're right." Daniel waved his hand through the air, like it'd all been some hurtful joke he hadn't meant to offend the boy with. "Something's just-. There's a red flag here, and it's got my senses all haywire." He shifted, judging Dipper's body language distreetly through the glint of his glasses. His son was still pale- much too pale- and distant. The allusion of just _something _being wrong had him tight and inward-pulling. Which wasn't like him. Wasn't like his curious son at all.

"Well, it's not _me_." Dipper assured, bringing himself in even more. Daniel willed his reaction down at his obvious discomfort. '_It's not __me._'

_Then who __is __it?_

"It better not be." His father stated in place of what was actually on his tongue. Light, teasing; so much like a poke, and not a punch. Dipper almost eased out of his tightened muscles at the playful tone before remembering himself.

"It's _not._"

"I know. I believe you."

"I'm serious."

"I get it. You're fine."

"There's nothing-."

"It's alright, Mason." Daniel held up a hand, silencing him.

Dipper had so much left to say, but had sworn off admitting any of it. He wanted to tell him things. He wanted to tell Daniel to stop being so proud of him. He wanted to explain that, though it was nice to know people thought so highly of him, it made his stomach turn each time his father put that hand on his shoulder; pet, squeezed, and smiled, remarking what a great guy Dipper was. Because that wasn't true. That wasn't true at all.

He wanted to say this thing.

Daniel turned away from the brunette, a saddened glaze of his features hidden behind his ever-comfortable mirth. He reached over the arm of the couch to grab at another picture frame. A family photo. Again, with his face scribbled out. Still, he smiled at the snapshot, head leaning into hand when he hummed, pulled it in closer, pulled it back, and passed it off to Dipper.

"This one's pretty nice." Daniel offered. Natural as ever, of course. He was far too calm a person when the moment felt heavy.

"Yeah." Was all Dipper could say to that, taking one long, hesitant glance at the frame before him. Partially afraid of finding some hidden message along the page. Like Daniel might take a pen and scribble down quickly, '_I know you plan on killing John, and it makes me very disappointed._' And pass it his way, sit back smuggly, and watch his son's face crumble at the sight.

The paper was clean. The edges were smooth. Apart from Daniel's exed out face, everything was as should be. Once Dipper's initial paranoia washed away, along with a bit of skepticism, he put the picture down on a coffee table, uninterested.

"You were- what? Seven; _eight_?"

"Eleven." Dipper corrected, knowingly. His father hummed a chuckle.

"Oh, _right_. Right, right, right, right, right." He nodded his head. "Mabel hadn't gotten her braces in yet." A finger lifted to point out the little girl's thumb-sized gap, and a wash of fondness came over the twin boy. Then nostalgia. Remorse. Regret. Guilt, for the one person he'd promised every secret to. Dipper's heart weakened. "She used to squirt milk through her gap." Daniel snorted.

"Did she?"

"You don't remember? She went through a whole milk-squirting phase back in the fourth grade."

Dipper _did _remember.

Acknowledging the good_ now, _though. Acknowledging it felt so wrong here. He pretended not to know.

He paused, shrugged, and looked from his father, who'd dropped his smile once his son stopped watching him.

"Beats me."

And, that hurt Daniel.

That _hurt _him.

In the room without his face.

Without his _presence. _

It hadn't occurred to him that Daniel was experiencing a similar sensation of distance, and had only hoped to come to shore through Dipper, who he was unaware was even farther out in the tides than himself. That when he'd brought up the memory, it was in retaliation to his son's pushing away. His '_don't touch me. Don't come near. Don't feel. Don't know. I am not. I simply am not.'_ Whatever it was that he was not.

Maybe it was explanation enough for Dipper to simply admit forgetting his father could feel so human in such a pathetic way. Feel distance in a home that didn't remember the weight of his body along newly-paneled oakwood. Couldn't remember how many steps it was up, or how many it was down. Or when they'd _ever _decided on that gaudy shade of orange for the dining room. Didn't know the new man of the house, and couldn't recall when he'd started being the old.

Didn't even get the mild tinge of nostalgia from picking up a photograph and seeing a pair of younger, specticalled eyes staring back at him.

Daniel took a moment too long recovering from his son's words. Even so, he found his voice much sooner than Dipper did.

"'Course not." Bitter; _almost _bitter. Because, who he'd presumed was a bridge onto mainland had in fact been yet another stranded boat. At the very least, they could've been lost together, but Dipper demanded three waves between them at all times.

His son said nothing. Only stared blankly at the grown man; felt harsh and undercooked and corroding all in a single blow to his head. He was far too good at reading each and everyone of Daniel's faces. He wore many; perhaps for the best. Dipper had grown skeptical of plain smiles.

Pain rode through those cheeks of Daniel's, and Dipper knew he had to get away before his lips could explain what made the brunette so distant, so cold, so unfamiliar- a vulnerability to Bill's plan, which he couldn't risk. Before he'd properly processed his own movements, Dipper found himself standing from the couch.

"I should check up on William; he's probably bored out of his mind."

Daniel looked like he might follow his son when he made a swift exit. And, he could have, knowing full and well Bill had only been used as an excuse to escape the atmosphere; that Dipper just wanted to get away. He could've been petty. Daniel Pines could've trailed the young man he was so fond of, perfectly content in his decision to hurt his son with this heaviness. To hurt him, the way he suddenly felt compelled to do, purely to sooth his own raging frustrations.

Which is exactly why he didn't.

He sat there, cross-legged, watching as his son ascended the steps, supposedly to where Bill was located.

The distinct, burning scent of citrus. Followed by black hair; a body outside of his field of vision before, now moving in closer. Once situated behind the wall, coming in now to slide his back against the hallway paint, and watch Dipper glide upstairs.

Daniel noted John, who leaned against that wall outside of the living room. Who he hadn't caught sight of during their conversation, but had surely been there for most of it. And who looked very, very paranoid of whatever it was they'd discussed. John placed his thumb's nail between his teeth. Almost bit down, before remembering how perfectly round they all were, and relented. He watched that boy bound up the steps.

Daniel felt weirdly uncomfortable, seeing how John saw Dipper. Indifferent, but-. Something else. Though paranoid- for whatever reason- was it too much to say the older man looked strangely- _Longing?_

The two grown men's eyes locked, and initial movements John had made to follow the brunette upstairs were suddenly abandoned. He simply leaned there, against the wall, casual and plain on the surface, though boiling in turns of flame from within. Here, Daniel couldn't get a read on his intentions.

In part because he refused to believe it.

[...]

When Dipper found Bill upstairs, there was hardly anything to say.

Had everything gone alright with Daniel?

_Yes._

Did he crack? Was anybody onto them?

_No_.

Was he ready to exact his revenge?

_Shut up, Bill. Please, just shut up._

What could've been a coddling, warm reassurance, was instead the dreary pain of self-loathing when Dipper's partner, perfectly content, whipped out the vial. And, he smiled the brunette's way. And nodded his head, '_Yes. This __is __how it's supposed to be.'_ Pursed his lips and gave Dipper a sloppy, tongue-fueled kiss, by which he was cut short when the smaller reciprocated for only a moment, before pulling back and felt a line had almost been crossed.

Bill acted as though he didn't mind. But, he'd initiated it, as all else in their relationship, and being denied that kind of touch between them was tearing in all kinds of ways. Because, again, his form only grew more human as the days went on. He'd found on their short visit to California that even skin needed caring for, and Dipper's lips or hair or fingers or cheeks seemed to be substance enough to appease the saddening twitches of want that wouldn't calm itself.

To feel was to have. To have was to breath.

It annoyed him. Everything about this situation made him itch in frustration. Bill couldn't stand how easy it was for Dipper to wipe himself out; to suck the very life from his own face. He was his own worst enemy, the way every little thing stuck with him. And, dragging Bill into it? Fuck. Damnit, did he hate that. Now he _had _to fix things. Bill _had _to get involved, otherwise his pinetree would just dig himself into a deeper hole. And, where was the fun in destroying something that was already near-finished?

Hard work.

It was hard work.

So, Bill kept his distance when it looked like Dipper might need it. He only spoke in vague terms when addressing their plans, which was easy, considering how cryptic he was to begin with. Still, he despised stepping on eggshells, and the ranging censorship, and the soft-ish tone, and the boundaries.

When they were together, in that guest room all alone, there should have been a level of vulnerability Dipper was expected to supply. But he was all too drained to properly moderate what was enough exposure, and so opted instead for full-blown lock down of intimacy. Bill didn't so much as attempt contact afterwards; only spoke, secretive as ever, of their plans.

"When's dinner at?"

"In about twenty minutes."

"And the _toast_?"

"Some time after." Dipper shifted, one foot to the other.

Downstairs was Miriam. In her pretty little apron, wiping down the table and setting up plates. Rescuing a casserole from the oven; getting the place mats.

Pulling out cups.

Miriam used to call it '_a little taste,_' back when she'd had a go at some of the finer wines in her collection. And, though being the upright woman she was, there was to be a laxness about her character then, in the smooth buzzing of her ears; the calm warmth of her nose. Growing up, it'd only been _'a little taste._' And, she'd called her children over- _only _on their birthdays, and when they _swore _to never tell anyone outside of the house- to take a _tiny _sip from her glass in celebration.

'_A toast,_' she'd once called it, raising her glass, by which Daniel raised his, and the twins pretended to raise theirs, and acted even the slightest bit tipsy from watered-down wine.

It was a tradition of sorts; _European_, really, and not at all as inappropriate as the neighbors on her block would call it. That's how she phrased it. She'd smile tightly; allow the drinking. Allow the sip. Until one day, her children became of age, and the tradition of passing her glass from one to the other back to her, was a distant memory, and either twin could simply pour a cup of their own.

A loneliness fell over the scene she'd once associated with family.

Bill asked about seating arrangements, not that Dipper would know anything about that. At some point, it had only been the four of them, with Dipper on Daniel's left, and Mabel to Miriam's right. With him out of the house though, the system was changed, and Daniel might squeeze out from the head of the table to sit by his son, and Miriam might be to the left of John now, and John to the right of Mabel, and Mabel horizontal to Bill. It only made planning an itch harder to scratch, but doable. Bill was a crafty guy, after all.

Sneaking death's blood into wine wasn't a problem.

Still, Dipper felt everything would go horribly wrong.

[...]

Dinner was called, and the kitchen became the dining room, and empty chairs were filled, and glasses were poured. _Water _glasses. Tony would be sent to bed after dessert, at which point the adults could bust out a bottle of some high-end drink Miriam had hoarded away for the occasion. Until then, they all spoke lightly, and without interest in politics or work.

Not that Dipper enjoyed either subject.

Somehow, in the midst of Miriam's guiding hands, and her proud, expectant smile, she'd miraculously herded everyone around the table how she envisioned it. Her on one end; John on the other. Daniel was horizontal to Bill, who was seated across from Mabel, meaning the girl was also across from Dipper, who'd been unfortunately crowded in by his lover on one side, and his harasser on the other. Dipper to the right of John. Mabel to his left.

Perhaps in Miriam's eyes, it had only seemed appropriate to place them around their stepfather. To that, Dipper really couldn't blame her. She was only ignorant to the situation, as everyone else.

That didn't make the boy any less distressed, feeling whenever the table cloth below his fingers shifted, and John's fists clenched, and he could hear the draw in the man's tone, and smell blunt citrus and lotion and note each and every clack of his spoon against Miriam's plates. And, perhaps John's ankle had only brushed against him by accident. Perhaps he really _had _knocked his fork off the table, and he _did _need to pick it up from under the cloth, and the tufts of his hair _were _brushing against his knee by circumstances only.

Perhaps.

Dipper excused himself a total of _four _times that night to go to the bathroom, rubbing his face raw with cold water from the sink. When he came back, Bill was a bit closer to the man than before, and he'd leaned his elbows against the thin linens; cocked a smile. Said something charming that had John interested, if not flirtatiously coy. And, it had felt natural, being the person that Bill was, for him to be a tad touchy around the hands, even as his vest-clad chest moved over his plate to get there. Miriam didn't mind, of course. She liked Bill. Everyone _liked _him.

John brushed a thumb over the card in his pocket, pressing a digit against each corner.

'_William C. Angle; Criminal Mind Expert._' With a ten-digit phone number underneath.

If he ever wanted to _talk, _Bill had said when offering the business card to he ever felt like _talking._

_Sure_; why not? They could _talk _after dinner. They could _talk _for hours. They could _talk _the entire visit; right after cutting the cake. They could _talk _over the phone, and on facetime. Maybe become regular fishing buddies, and arrange to _talk _on camping trips.

They could even _talk _Dipper into joining them; he could get right in the middle of their conversation.

John would smile and reach for his fork, a distance further up; his fingers _almost _grazing Dipper's, but not quite.

_Five _times. Dipper excused himself _five _times that night.

The cake was cut, and slices were handed out around the table. Miriam worked to move the dinner plates out of the way, in place of dessert. She'd lean over her son's shoulder to replace half-eaten string bean casserole with red velvet, followed by a sly peck of the young boy's cheek. Which had warmed him. Only a moment, with the content look she gave- those eyes that were kind on these occasions- before making her rounds along the table to continue her collection of dishes.

She sent Tony to bed.

Miriam swept away the last of the silverware and dishes.

Packed up the cake.

Got out the wine glasses-.

_Oh god, wait._

_Too fast._

_It's skipping._

_Things are going too fast now._

_Please, slow down._

Dipper's mom was happy to distribute a cup to each seated person. Even Daniel, who half-protested a drink of his own. She was persistent, though. He let it happen after an extra push from her, already beaten down and partially awkward about arguing with his ex.

"Great meal, Miriam." Bill offered, cool as a cucumber in his chair. With one hand, he scooped up a glass. The other was already fishing around in his pant pocket, fetching the vial between his fingers.

Everyone chimed in with their agreeance, aside from Dipper and John. One of which looked like he might pounce, but also might book it if he ever gets the chance to. The other, pale as he was, couldn't seem to work his lips apart in all their chapness. Dipper thought he might excuse himself a sixth time.

"_Stop_; you're too sweet." Miriam gushed, rubbing her hands against the apron she hadn't yet discarded. She gave her son a parting look at that. And, perhaps he'd read it wrong. Maybe he had. But-. Did it almost look as though her eyes had said '_good choice?_'

Dipper didn't have enough time to unpack whatever that expression was; Bill had taken the liberty of passing the glasses around, from Miriam's hands to his to Dipper's to John's to Mabel's to Daniel's.

He'd been right not to worry about seating arrangements; been right not to wonder how Bill would pour the poison with one body separating him from his target. Because, unlike everyone else's empty glass, John's was still a bit damp. A clear residue pooling at the base of his wine glass- probably water- _not _water. It looked like a bit of moisture from the dishwasher.

Somewhere, in the midst of passing glasses, Bill'd done his part effortlessly. And no one saw it. No one _cared _about a wet cup.

No one but Dipper.

Because, that _wasn't_ water. It just _wasn't. _Dipper saw Bill get up from his seat, peaceful as he was- hardly _caring _what he'd done- and disposed of the now empty vial.

A few fucking drops.

And that would be the end of it.

"Sweetheart?" Miriam placed a hand on Dipper's shoulder, forcing a jerk all through his body. He pleaded with his limbs to stay calm, and they did for the most part, aside from his right leg, which refused to quit its rhythmic bouncing. "You alright?"

"_Great._" He replied quickly. By this point, it hardly mattered. It hardly mattered how he would look here. It hardly mattered if everyone noticed. They wouldn't remember that wild look in his eyes, come tomorrow. "Just ready to get this over with." He stretched his arms, met with tight, stressed pulls.

If Miriam was offended by his choice of words, she didn't let on to it. Just this once, she decided not to fuss. The woman put her hand on his shoulder, soft as a feather, but firm against light skin. Her eyes were a bit weightier, but not nearly as much as Daniel's, who'd been onto his son since the very beginning. She sucked in a breath- perhaps wanting to say something. But, how could she? She wasn't ever sure what to say to this man; her boy.

Pretending not to notice her son's strangled demeanor, Miriam gave his cheek a light pat.

"Alright, alright." The woman began with a lilt in her tone. A hand went through that hair of his, to which he stiffened reflexively. She sensed the motion and was quick about releasing him; casually, of course. Not to draw attention to whatever… _that _was. "You feel like doing the honors?" She offered. Like asking a child if they felt like lighting the candles, or cutting the first slice.

Miriam offered the bottle up to him; some french import she'd scrounged her local supermarket for, with the fifty dollar price sticker still pressed at the bottom. Dipper smiled as best he could, forcing down the sudden urge to swallow a mounting lump in his throat.

"Oh." He said dumbly. His fingers paused- hesitated- before forcing themselves ahead to wrap around the neck of the drink. With that, Miriam smiled, giving him a nod of her head, encouraging him on. He popped the cork without it flying off, or causing a massive spill- professionally; not like his first time. _'First' _meaning in front of his parents when he was around nineteen. _Real _first being his sophomore year of highschool, packed up in the crowded lawn of some senior quarterback by the name of Quill Minorelly.

'_The honor_,' by Miriam's words, was simply to pour everyone a glass. And, it _was _an honor; just a little. Usually. Not today, of course. Today, it was a nerve racking death sentence.

Bill was first, as everyone would expect, being the guest here, on top of being a self-serving asshole. Dipper stood, leaning left of him so the bottle would tilt against the curve of Angle's glass. A time ago, if he were much younger, it wouldn't have surprised a single soul for this young man to overpour Bill's glass, or knock his cup, or miss the target completely; he'd been clumsy like that.

Dipper was older, though. And practiced with his drinks. Hanging around Pacifica- with her snobbish undertone, and just a wisp of refinement- he'd learned how to pour a glass. If anyone were to ask how it looked, they'd almost argue it was _charming _when he did. _Specifically _him.

Here, though. Here, everyone watched very closely, with an uncertainty about their gazes. His hand was trembling where he held the bottle. And his eyes weren't exactly on the glass. And his other arm wasn't at his side, as it usually was, but instead a bit back of his chest, so he could clutch the table for stability.

Miriam chewed her lip.

Daniel folded his hands.

Mabel looked down.

He finished pouring the first glass without incident, feeling still as though he'd spilled the entire content. So much so, he almost apologised. Moving along, he poured Miriam's with exceeding tremors of the wrist, but under control by his flexed fingers. Daniel's, he bumped the bottle against the line of his cup, and Dipper almost lost it. Almost, but not quite. He clutched the glass firmly, using his free hand to help lift the base of the bottle; to stabilize the trembling. Poured, and moved on.

Dipper didn't even _look _at Mabel. He only tilted the wine into her cup- far less than he'd given everyone else. She hated alcohol, after all.- and moved on to John.

To say it felt-... _perverse_, standing to the side of his step father was an understatement. Saying it felt wrong approaching this man, and not vice versa, just didn't do the feeling justice. It was like trying to breath underwater. That's exactly how Dipper treated it. His lungs pinched at the base as though the room had been vacuum sealed. When his hands trembled, every hair of his arm stood on end, and his mouth dried out. It was like he couldn't move.

"Careful." Miriam remarked finally, able to sense the unease of her son. Even though he hadn't strayed off course, or spilled so much as a drop on her tablecloth. It had been a bad idea to give him the honors, but taking over the wheel in favor of unstained linens just didn't feel fair to her; it would've only embarrassed him now. So, she let her son serve John, though with an arched brow when Dipper refused to bend forward to reach the glass, instead extending his arms as far as they would go. Like reaching over fire.

Didn't say a thing to her husband when he- Paranoid. Paranoid, but wanting still.- decidedly tipped the bottle a bit farther in Dipper's hands, so he'd get a portion more wine than the rest. And Dipper, shaken, almost dropped the bottle all together, before catching it with fumbling hands.

"_Careful_." His mother rose a few inches from her seat this time, fingers curling in on themselves. Her voice was a soft hiss. Not angry. Not calm, either. She was famous for her hysterics, after all. And, if her son continued balancing the bottle between sweaty palms that way, she might go into shock. "Please." She lowered back into her seat.

Dipper moved around to pour his own glass.

Miriam willed a smile. Daniel winced.

By now, the bottle was empty. He took a quick look at John's cup, and made out the subtle glaze of poison filming his drink. Not that the older male could tell the difference. It was just a layer of something a bit white. Had the red of his cup looking pale in comparison, but barely.

It made something in Dipper sting.

"Would anyone like to lead the toast this year?" Miriam asked the group as they each cradled their glasses between middle and index finger. She'd always been the one, posed as she was. Who else _really _felt like standing with some eloquent speech on their tongue? No one ever came to the toast willing to _give _a toast; which was perfectly fine. She was already rising from her chair after a moment of silence, willing to recite whatever little thing she'd thought up in the moment.

'_A toast to Mason and his job,' _Maybe.

'_To Mabel and her sweetness.'_

'_To the guest; thank you for making it.'_

'_To Daniel. You weren't the one for me, and you never will be. Still, thank you for these two. Thank you for the twins.'_

'_To John.'_

_To john._

And, maybe they would have raised their cups then, and simply drank to the name alone.

But, as she stood, ready to give her tiny line, Daniel placed a calculated hand on her shoulder.

"I'll do it this year." He offered. Miriam gave a stunned look. Slight disappointment. Slight relief. She rolled his hand off her shoulder, just as Dipper had done before.

"Really?" She asked. Daniel grinned, nodding.

"Really." With that, he rose from his seat, causing Miriam to sink in response.

Dipper didn't notice they were beginning the toast at first, and his hand wasn't even on his glass yet. He'd planned on tuning it all out, just as he'd done every year. His mother's _'Thank you god, for these two. And thank you god they didn't turn out so bad.'_ He planned on tuning out.

Then, Daniel spoke.

"Alrighty." His father breathed out, clearing his throat. Dipper's back went rigid. His eyes were quick to trail up to the man before him. Glass in hand, face aglow- despite the dead, worried white of his expression- not looking at his son, though casting his voice in the younger's direction.

"I'd like to make a toast." He smiled. And, god. Wasn't that the smile of someone just happy to be _around? _Wasn't that the look of someone not _alone? _"Thank you again for dinner, Miriam. You're a hardworking lady."

The woman looked at him. Away. Ashamed in a way that only held regret. She could've murmured a small '_thank you,_' if it didn't feel out of place then. Because, it wasn't really her praise to take. It was theirs.

"It makes me happy our kids are, too."

Dipper didn't miss the way his tone shifted when saying that.

'_Our kids._'

'_They're __our __kids. They're __rare.'_

Daniel turned to address his children.

"You two." He began with a smile, as well as a slight lift of his drink. "I don't know how I lucked out like this. I've got no idea where I went right to deserve either of you."

Mabel lifted her head from the odd bend it had been in before, and she looked over at her father. Brows pinched, she put a hand over her heart, letting out a quiet '_aw'_ at Daniel's words. The glass in her hand was held up a bit more upright.

Dipper sunk down in his chair.

_It's not luck, dad. It's not luck._

_You have no idea how bad you've got it._

"You're impressive; _both _of you. Creative _and _smart. I know you've got a thing about labelling which twin is good at whatever, but it's not like that all the time. You're _both _great." He waved his hand, batting the suggestion away. "And, I wish you'd let me say that more often than birthdays."

Dipper's stomach cramped.

_Don't look at me here. Please, don't be looking at me._

_You don't know me anymore. Things are too complicated._

_It's not so simple._

_I'm not so simple._

Daniel's eyes weren't on his son. They weren't on anyone. Still, it wasn't such a stretch to feel he meant those last words for Dipper specifically. He went on.

"I wanna make a toast, then." He lifted his glass a bit more. Everyone followed suit. Even John, who looked beaten down by this longer-than-two-words speech.

The white film of his drink wobbled.

"To my wonderfully attractive children; I have _no _idea where you get your looks from."

"My side." Miriam chimed in seamlessly before coughing into her hand and clearing her throat, composing herself. Daniel chuckled.

"Mabel." He addressed his daughter warmly. "A toast to _you. _You're smart and versatile; not just the wool of your sweaters."

And, the _look _it put on her face-.

She _seriously _smiled then, with rosy cheeks and eyes that asked her wine glass '_Really__?'_ To say it looked like _no one _had _ever _said something like that to her before was both heartbreaking and wonderfully refreshing to finally hear.

"And, a toast to _you, _Mason."

Dipper's chest hammered.

His glass wobbled.

His eyes watered-.

_No, blink them away._

_Don't feel this moment._

_Don't be present._

_Don't be mindful._

Daniel set him with a soft gaze, and everything about him fell to pieces.

"Your heart's a lot bigger than you let on; _never _be ashamed of that."

He fell to pieces.

He fell right to pieces.

You have a heart, Mason.

You have a _heart._

Use it.

Dipper almost missed the moment entirely, so focused on his father. The way his hand rose just an inch in the air; how his head began to tilt back. How Daniel readied himself to drink to the toast. He almost missed the moment.

But, something struck him.

He was suddenly _in _the house.

He was suddenly feeling the moisture of his cup, and the anticipation of drink, and the slight hunger, and the closeness, and the cold- the warmth- the cold- the warmth, and every inch of skin that wrapped his body.

And, in a fit of life, he slapped John's drink from his hand.

"_Don't__!"_

Maybe he'd been too excited about it, though.

"Oh-! Well, _fucking-!_" Wine ran down John's V-neck, and it was like a death in the family. "_Damn it_!"

"Hey, _woah_." Daniel put down his glass quickly, having hardly gotten a taste of the fru-fru whatever in his cup. He gave Dipper an incredulous look.

'_Why?'_ It asked, as though a simple answer was enough for forgiveness.

Dipper wasn't sure he could supply one.

"Oh God, _Mason._ Honey, if you were still feeling dizzy, you should've just-." Whatever Miriam planned on saying next didn't really matter. Not then. Dipper's ears were pounding against waves of blood, and he could feel when his heartbeat raced to the soles of his feet. John growled.

"That wasn't fucking _dizziness, _Miriam! He fucking _did _that!" The raven haired man snarled, working fruitlessly to ring out bits of wine.

"By _accident, _John." She hissed back, hands on her hips, features offended. Perhaps trying _not _to be offended. Not in front of guests. Her lips snaked in a grimace, nonetheless.

"'_By accident.' _For fuck's sake; I _told _you he was gonna be a goddamn problem today!"

"It's a _shirt, _dear. A _shirt._" She threw her head back like this was the millionth time they'd had this conversation. "Calm _down. _You've got another one upstairs."

"It's not _about _the shirt!" John sounded downright insulted; like insinuating he'd _ever _get this pissed over some white V-neck was so below him. It wasn't, of course.

It just wasn't what had been bothering him all day.

"He slapped the damn drink out of my hand! Why don't you tell _him _to calm down?"

Miriam's chest heaved. Now, she could've spat right in his face for that. She could've barked back at him for his stupid tone, and that dumb V-neck she'd always hated.

Not in front of Daniel, though.

That would've been so embarrassing.

She relented, lips curling in before addressing Dipper.

"Mason, why don't you lie down in the guest room? Maybe letting you walk around in this heat was a bad idea."

"That's not what I meant!" Miriam was quick to snap at him.

"What do you want me to _say, _John?" She threw her hands up, the last of her drink flying free from her cup. "I'm already sending him to his room like a _child. _What else can I do here?"

"_Control your fucking kids._"

"Alright, that's _enough._" Daniel slammed his hand down on the table, making either of the twins jump. Bill hid his grin behind a rim of wine.

'_Oh, this family's __wonderfully __dysfunctional.'_

"Don't you badmouth our children." Their father warned with eyes not fit for that gentle face of his. He was a softer fellow around the jaw, with fair hair and a small bump in his throat; the look he gave didn't match those features.

"What? In _my _house?"

"_John!_" Miriam snaked between her teeth with clenched fists. Mabel sank _very _low in her chair, making home in the turtle neck of her sweater. Dipper was slowly creeping out of his initial shock of '_Holy fuck I just fucking did that in front of everyone I just fucking did that.'_ Bill put a hand on his shirt sleeve and willed his zombie-like body to sit down.

"Don't you _police _me on how to talk; your son's a _problem_! He's a damn _problem_!"

"Oh my god." Mabel mumbled into the neck of her sweater. Her back was now laying in the seat of her chair, knees on the floor, with either hand pulling the collar of her shirt far, far above her head. "Oh my god. Oh my _god._"

"And I'm tired of _you-!" _John whipped around to face Miriam. "-Acting like he's a _saint!_ How about instead of gushing over how _smart _he is, you teach him some respect, like a damn _parent!"_

"I _do-!_" She tried, though her voice was defensive, not confident. The initial flame of her conviction had wavered just a bit.

"_Shit." _John laughed, head thrown back. "Jesus _fuck, _you're _just _like your mother!"

"I'm trying my _best!_" Miriam's voice wavered. "Don't you compare me to _her_!"

She set her glass down hard enough to justle the entire table. Her arm was flexed with shaking, tight muscles.

_Grandma Huldah._

Miriam never talked about her home life; never talked about it.

Not with her children, anyway.

It was right though, to assume she'd been in deep back then. That she'd been put in a place of expectations, and do this, and do that, and don't fail here, and never feel these. And that she'd eloped from it all in hopes of escaping the pressure. And that, despite her best efforts, those teachings were all she knew, and they would have been all her kids would've known if not for the man she'd found in the process.

Dipper's stomach balled up tight, seeing the look of melted pride on his mother's face.

_That's not okay._

_This isn't her fight._

"_Alright, alright_." Bill sighed into his glass before setting it down. "Let's not get _too _excited."

"How about _you-._" John snapped around without so much as a hitch in his motions. His finger went out accusingly. "-Put a damn _leash _on your whorish boyfriend?" He jerked towards the boy in question.

It took a second for Dipper's parents to register just who John was talking about.

"_Excuse _me?!" Miriam growled.

"_Oh god, oh geez, oh no_." Mabel sank even farther down in her chair until she was completely under the table. She pulled the tight knit of her wool sweater up to her ears, working to block the noise.

Still a better birthday than after the divorce.

This was a close second, though.

" You fucking _heard _me! Your son's a _whore!"_

"_I am about to-_." Miriam's hand went up, balled fist, eyes snapping shut when her lips curled in, and she _really _had to decide whether or not '_cut off your fucking head' _was an appropriate thing to say in front of her kids. She reluctantly concluded '_no.'_ "_You-. __Seriously __need to check yourself._"

"Or _what__?_"

Dipper's body was suddenly wired. Hot, electrified in all the wrong ways when that _tone-._ His skin burned. John was like a shark now, wading the waters. He'd only shown the tip of his fin against the surface, but even his stance gave off feeding intentions.

There was something about that '_Or what' _that made him livid. It made him feel fucking hysterical. Because now, he was feeling _everything. _Dipper's blood was pumping so much faster, and his eyes took in every bit of detail. The heat under his nails was scorching.

John had just '_Or what'd _Miriam.

Who was still wearing a fucking _apron _from dinner.

Who'd excused herself to tuck Tony in for bed.

Who still put up with the old tradition of giving a toast.

Who'd fucking _invented _it.

_Or what?_

_Or what?_

The hairs on Dipper's neck stood on end, and he was suddenly completely attuned to every last breath John took.

"_I'm not about to do this with you_." Miriam was suddenly cautious; she seemed to know '_or what,_' whether or not she could bring herself to say it. She looked at her husband, steady as she was in that moment, before lowering herself back in her seat. Like the death of a martyr. "Please, just _sit __down_."

As she cooled, so did Dipper's temper. His fists slowly unballed themselves from the table cloth, clenched jaw working to ease out of its tight grip, shoulders loosening those muscles. He tried to breath through his nose, not the grit of his teeth.

John stood there dumbly. Still _wet_, of course. Shaking in a way that said he wasn't ready to give this stupid thing up. Dipper regretted ever slapping that glass out of his hands for _multiple _reasons. But, the deed was done, and he'd made his final decision; like offering himself up to a cross. He worked to release the tension of- just- _everything._

Dipper let the anger slip away.

He let it go.

John sat back down.

"_That's what I fucking thought._"

If someone were to inform Dipper he'd re-balled his fist, he wouldn't have noticed. If they'd told him he'd knocked over his chair in his sudden rush to stand, he would have honestly had no idea. When he grabbed the collar of John's still-damp shirt, he hardly registered so much as a drop of wine on his fingers.

That was pretty much how the first punch went down.

Left, then right. John, putting up his forearms after those two consecutive blows.

He'd knocked him out of that chair with the first, and onto his feet with the second. Though dazed, John was already returning fists by the third.

Miriam shrieked, cupping her cheeks in shock when Dipper laid a nasty left hook to John's cheek.

"_Stop!_" A plate slid itself off the table when the two men knocked into a corner, forcing it to shatter. Mabel let out a yelp from beneath the table.

_Still _not as bad as after the divorce.

Hell, _close _though. Closer and closer by the _second._

It was a blur, really. And, maybe not justified to chalk up as '_don't talk to my mother like that._' No, no. This had been a long time coming. His body had lept to action before Dipper's brain processed his own intentions.

It was a lot more than defending honor.

This was required on an emotional level.

There wasn't a damn thing Dipper could do about that.

By the sixth fist, they were ramming each other into a wall. Ninth, John was hauling the smaller over by the breast of his shirt. There was a bit of hair pulling in the mix, some ways between knocking Dipper's wine glass off the table, and Bill's unhelpful '_Put 'em in a headlock!'_

"_You fucking bitch!_" John got a grip on the young boy- a damn _good grip_\- and outright _slammed _Dipper onto the table. Silverware went flying. Tablecloth, yanked halfway to the floor. The empty wine bottle they'd once drank from came crashing down, at which point Mabel decided she was a lot safer above ground.

Okay, okay, _fine._

This was at _least _as bad as after the divorce.

She still clung to hope that nothing would catch fire this time.

The next few punches were all John's.

"Jesus_, _kid! Fight _back_!" Bill tried to rouse Dipper.

A knock at the brunette's cheek had his head slamming back on the table, and Bill was suddenly rushing over to pry the larger off.

"_Call off your damn bodyguard, you piece of shit!_" John growled out, bunching up his shoulders when Bill _actually _laid onto him. _Bill_. The refined, smooth-talking blondie.

A patch burned in his pocket, when John remembered that damn business card of his.

'_If you wanna __talk__.'_

Motherfucker.

A warm fist against his cheek had John lifting his elbow to block the next couple of blows, meaning Dipper was given permission to swing left, right, and kick.

"_Get __off __of me!"_ He was a blind, raging mess on that table, with arms he didn't know could follow through like that; didn't know he could knock into a jaw with that level of accuracy.

"_I'm calling the police; __I'm calling the police._" Miriam was in hysterics, yanking a phone from her purse, pacing behind the kitchen aisle like a trapped animal and typing '_91-,' _before giving up on the last number; closed her phone, gave it a minute, and warned to call again before starting the process all over.

She couldn't, though. Police officers, on _her _lawn? God, what would the neighbors think?

"_You goddamn trouble-maker!_" John roared, pulling Dipper farther up the table. "_You goddamn __whore!_" He put his hand on the smaller's neck, gritting his teeth against Bill, who's fingers had decidedly found refuge in his hair and yanked at loose stands.

'_That's __my __line,' _he wanted to say, but the blond thought now might be a tad inappropriate.

"_This is all because of __you!_"

Dipper's heart was beating through his ribcage; he couldn't help but feel overwhelmingly present in the moment. The full weight of this grown man pressing into his lower abdomen certainly didn't help the way his hands started trembling in response. He grit it out, though. He stuck with this bullshit decision to fight his aggressor like it was _therapeutic._

_Fight your fucking problems, damn it._

_Let __yourself get mad once in a while._

_Damn it all; __blame this asshole for all that!_

"_No._" Dipper all but yelled, throwing up a fist just for the hell of it. It didn't do shit, of course. He was more physically spent than anything. By the way John's hand just kept tightening around his throat, Dipper felt he might black out if his blood pressure got any higher. "_You're- just a creep._"

"_John, __stop it! __Oh god, you're __killing __him!"_ Which, of course, was only the hyperactive imagination of a mother helplessly watching her son get smacked on. Like a child on the balcony, four feet behind the railing but _oh god, _they could fall off at any second. Still, it terrified the woman. Terrified Dipper even more in his current state, hearing the outright _honesty _in her tone. Because, damn it all, didn't it sort of feel like he _would _die?

He wasn't breathing so well, now that he thought of it.

Bill threw an arm around John's neck. Getting behind him, he yanked him off the kitchen table all together. The last of the cloth slid away.

"_Creep?__ Creep?__ What did you fucking __think __would happen?!"_ John was on his feet, working fruitlessly to wrestle the elbow from around his throat; not squeezing, but keeping him in place as long as he bucked around. Bill's feet tousled over themselves, going whichever way before finding neutral footing to pull the man farther back.

"_Damn it, sapling-_." Bill cursed, trying to work his other arm around his encaptured fist, barring John's neck in. The raven-haired male was in a fit of mindless scrambling, the way he thrashed in an effort to break free and get another shot in.

"_You think I __wanted __to do that?! You think I __wanted __to try it?!_"

Daniel was farther back, shielding his daughter from what was sure to be the worst birthday ever recorded in Pines history. Arms wrapped around the crown of her head, face still sunken deep within the cave of her sweater, the father could do no more than moderate the two bodies separate from his. He'd already snatched Miriam's phone from hand, working desperately to get the woman to '_Please, calm down.'_

But, John was still a snarling wreck, and Bill's hair was ruffled and curling, and her son was starting to prop himself up on the table, rubbing a red handprint across his neck.

Miriam threaded either of her hands through the strands of her bun, giving herself a wild look.

"_Daniel." _The woman shook, grabbing at the man's sleeve, which was still wrapped around Mabel. "_Daniel, __do __something."_

The man looked baffled.

Do?

Do _what? _

He wasn't even sure how things had _started._

Daniel sucked a breath through his nose, looking across the room at the brunette, who was groaning and cupping the side of his bruised cheek.

His son had always been a _pacifist, _though; like him. Right? When Dipper brought himself up off the table, and wiped a bit of blood from his nose, it seemed like the boy might go right back in on the fight.

Oh, hell.

He _was._

"Hey! _Hey, hey, hey!_" Daniel broke from his daughter, making a quick slide between Dipper, and John who was currently trying to pry away tanned arms from his throat. "_Mason!_" Dipper attempted a side step, by which his father grabbed his arm. "Don't_."_ He warned sternly, wrapping either arm around his waist.

"Dad, _stop-._" Dipper's tone wavered, but refused to give way under the sudden pressure of his throat. The grip of Daniel's forearms around him didn't burn quite so bad here. They weren't as suffocating as they might have been before.

But, it wasn't finished yet.

The feeling was still there, passive as it was.

He tried wiggling free of his father's grip. Daniel was stubborn, though; naturally balanced, and rather tough to knock over. So that when he leaned himself back and physically lifted Dipper from his feet, it didn't even phase the man.

"No, _you _stop." Daniel yanked him to the other side of the kitchen, pulling with him a bit of Dipper's initial pride. "I don't know _why _you two thought today was a good day to get at each other's throats-."

"Because he's a _bastard_!"

"_Say that to my damn __face!_" Dipper snapped around at the man currently trying to squeeze his way out from Bill's headlock.

"_You're a __bastard!_" He supplied effortlessly, chest lurking out against the barring of Daniel's arms. "_You're a __bastard, __and a __snake, __and you ruined my fucking __life!_"

"Mason, _quit it-!" _His father tried, tightening his grip. He could feel the very heat of his son like this, rising and rising in ways that shouldn't have been possible. He felt nails dig into the skin of his hairy arms, almost letting go out of sheer pain, though refraining.

Daniel took a quick, passing glance behind him. With Mabel's sweater pulled just below her nose, and either of Miriam's hands over her own face, the outright shock of this moment didn't seem to be lost on them.

"_You were __asking __for it!" _The initial strength behind John's skin had melted away, leaving instead a trail of weakened arms and faltering power. Those eyes, though. There wasn't a thing mellow about the burn of his stare. "_You wanted me to do it! You __tricked __me!"_

"_Tricked you?!"_ Dipper laughed at that. Laughed, and screamed, and worked hopelessly to break from his father's modified bearhug. He wanted to break that hold of his. Wanted to break the feeling of arms around his torso, and breath against his bare neck, and fingers digging into his shirt, and the feel of pant legs rubbing the backs of his thighs. He just wanted the feeling to stop. He wanted to get rid of this sensation, once and for all.

"_Tricked __you?!_" He asked again. This time, with vengeance. He thrashed around in his father's hold, suddenly hot and cold and stung and soothed and breaking in all kinds of ways. His eyes vibrated. His skin crawled.

_The engine of the car._

_The smell of citrus._

_The- the rain._

_The goddamn __repetition__._

Dipper was so tired of living that scene.

His eyes watered, and his throat burned, and he thought he might throw up if his words didn't just string along the way he needed them too.

"_I was fifteen, you fucking pedophile!"_

And his heart sank, and his eyes lowered, and his head bent far enough for his forehead to lean into the arms currently containing him.

And he suddenly felt spent.

"_I was __fifteen__."_

"_So?!_"

Which had been a poor miscalculation on John's part. If he'd paid more attention to the moment, and really thought about where he was standing, maybe he would have realized then that the two of them weren't alone this time.

Things were much slower, all of a sudden.

John thrashed around in Bill's arms after that, still reeling with strings of frustration that wound about his spine. After a time, he realized the room had gone deathly silent; tilting his head up in the blond's hold, John gave a confused look. Miriam had stopped her screaming- thank _god- _Her fingers had slid from the fronts of her eyes, by which they lay refuge over her trembling lips. Gaze shot, brows high, cheeks tinted pink with a horror near-obscene.

Daniel looked sick to his stomach, still clutching Dipper from behind; those words bounced off the kitchen wall, and the clamminess of his skin was now a damp swamp. His flesh was pale here. His flesh was _so _pale. He caught note of his son, silent as he was, not moving or breathing or fighting it anymore, as though his suggestive confession had been a knockout.

Because-.

Holy _shit_.

What grade had Mason been when he moved in with Daniel?

_How-?_

How old had he been again?

"..._No way._" Whoever might've looked bad in that room wasn't even close to how Mabel'd taken it. There wasn't necessarily a physical trait to pick out that really set her reaction apart from the rest; pale skin, a sudden tremble of the lip, wide eyes. A bit slumped in comparison, but otherwise the same.

That look, though.

It hardly boggled her now as to _why _Dipper refused visiting California.

Not at all.

Those three expressions, coupled with Bill slipping his arm away from John's neck, who'd finally gone still, seemed to slap him in the face with what he'd just confessed.

'_So?!' _The word rang through his ears. Daniel released his son. Miriam took one step back- two forward- curling at the tongue with confusion and disdain. And there John stood awkwardly through the duration of their condescending gawk, suddenly cast away from whatever connection there had been before.

"..._John…_" Miriam's ghost of a tone slid past her lips, at which point her husband finally drained of every ounce of blood. "_What… What's he talking about?"_

"Nothing." Wine dried to skin, making his very flesh irritable. He pulled at the collar of his V-neck.

"Bullshit." Bill's near-playful tone cut in. Looking his way, it didn't seem a man nearly as upright could've existed; with his hair smoothed after the scuffle, coat jacket re-buttoned, grin plain and simple. Judgemental. Accusing.

"_It's __true._" John countered. Hardly mattered, of course. They'd heard the dishonesty in his tone. They'd heard the '_So?!' _

It was silent a moment longer.

Miriam drew in a hiss.

"_I-I… I always thought it was __weird; __you'd been so avid about getting me out of the house._" She paused, pulling whatever breath had escaped her body back; shaken, she wiped her eyes with the fat of her palm. "_I never did, 'cause-. 'Cause, what's so fun about going to book clubs? And, sewing circles? And- and goddamn __pottery classes?_"

Miriam steadied herself against the corner of her perfect kitchen aisle, in her perfect home, on her perfect street, in her perfect town. Where she lived very, very comfortably, and had beautiful children that didn't look like her mother, or any of her abusive siblings, and had a husband with a nice car and a well-paying job and oh didn't he dress so fashionably just oh so fashionable and tall with thick black hair and dreamy eyes so nice to have around _but goddamn it all the nice things in life come at a fucking price and that price was fucking disguisting_.

"_Thank god, I never did._" She ran a hand down her face, mortified. "_Thank god. Thank __god__._" Tears brimmed at the lids. "_I had no idea-._"

"_Miriam… Miri, no."_

"_I'm calling the police._" She heard herself once, certain she meant it. And, when she knew she meant it, said it a second time more firmly. "Oh my god, I'm calling the police." Miriam shook her head in disbelief. Disbelief, but drive.

"_What?"_ John pushed past Bill and his smug grin; he was now off to the side, picking at the undersides of his nails. "Are you hearing yourself right now? I-. You-. What'll the _neighbors _say, though?"

Miriam reached for her phone, still clutched tightly between Daniel's sweating hands. He let go without batting an eye, gaze trained on the guilty man before him.

Miriam's fingers found their rhythm, typing all of three numbers in perfect order.

"_Miriam-!_" John lurched for the woman in desperation, only for a thick, wide palm to slap across his chest. He looked up, and there Daniel was. Or, someone similar. Surely, the blank, shaded jar of features before him wasn't who'd given a toast just before all this. The hand on his shirt flexed, and there was a power behind it- much more than Daniel's broken son's.

"_You touched my kid_?" And, oh the fury behind those steady eyes. John said nothing, mouth rewired to form all but an '_uh' _and an '_um._' Daniel didn't feel quite like a pacifist anymore. "_Did you __touch __my kid?_"

The accused man looked back at him, and knew perfectly well he couldn't lie like this; he was cornered on all four sides. Still, he tried.

"_I-." _John paused, wetting his lips. "_I'm not just gonna __stand here __so you can accuse me."_ The cold tone, the fuming expression. It didn't match. Nothing about his demeanor matched. He refused to get caught, though. There wasn't a damn thing they could really pin on him, lest he confess to his own evil doing, and that just wasn't possible anymore. Swallowing his own natural instinct to back down, John put a hand across Daniel's chest in mirror, and dragged his shirt collar towards him. "_If you've got a problem with me, say something."_

He stood firm; tall. Confident in the eyes of that condescending man who'd questioned his moral backbone. But, he wouldn't back down. He just wouldn't.

"Yes? _911_?"

John took the collar of Daniel's shirt as leverage, using the very last of his physical strength to shove the man over his own feet, so he'd end up tumbling backwards with a thud. There was a gasp- the initial shock of added violence- and John was turned around, basically on all fours, racing across the kitchen, through the hallway, past the living room, over mahogany flooring, and out the door within the time it took for Daniel to readjust the glasses on his face.

[...]

It was a heavy night.

The police came by for details on what Miriam had described as an assault, as well as the worst toast known to man.

"-And these are a few of his more recent photos."

A comically slim, older police officer leaned in on what looked to be a dimly lit selfie; Miriam held it without shame in her stance.

And all the details were written down, and the few people on the scene took note of what looked to be a struggle on the table, and they all testified- aside from the young man with tousled brown hair; he didn't say much. Just sat on the living room couch, lonely but not alone, with Bill at his side and an arm around the neck.

"You say this man's your husband?" Pen in hand. Book in other. One speaking into their walkie-talkie. There were few lights on that night along the road they lived, with several neighboring heads peeping from their homes to peer at what looked to be police cars on Mrs. Miriam's lawn.

"Well-. Not any_more._" She corrected, of course. The man nodded; hummed. Clicked his pen and folded his notebook.

"We'll look into it." And that was all. They cleared out quickly.

And the house was silent again.

Miriam came by with a pack of ice for Dipper's swelling cheek. She sat down in the arm chair.

Mabel had left her shoes in the living room. She put them on, and settled herself on the floor.

Daniel was restless as ever, and when he'd finally run himself ragged, pacing the halls, he eventually found refuge against the living room's door frame.

Only then did Dipper realise they'd all congregate together for him; that they expected intel on the knitty-gritty. But, he wasn't ready for that.

When it became apparent he wouldn't make the first move, Miriam let out a sigh.

"God; I don't know _what _I'm supposed to tell Tony." She groaned sadly, massaging her temple. "Should I say he went on _vacation? _Oh, geez."

A pause throughout the room. No one dared speak too soon, in case Dipper planned on slipping something in through the cracks of his trembling lips. He swiped a thumb over the back of Bill's hand, but nothing more. If he'd been worried about his mother noticing this, and noticing the intimate closeness between him and his partner, and how many boundaries this alone crossed, Dipper didn't let on to it. Not that Miriam rightfully cared either way.

She'd assumed as much since he was nine.

"You should say he went to _jail._" Mabel snarled against the bumps of her knees, curled up as she was, still digesting bits and pieces of the night.

"...Maybe." Miriam replied, grief-stricken. How everything had gone down the toilet in only a _night-._

She sighed.

"Maybe. _Maybe_." A heave of the chest; she rubbed a hand over her face. "What a _mess_."

"_Sorry_."

Dipper's voice cutting in was like electric wiring to the house. He spoke; all eyes on him. Miriam ashened, hands flying about in mortification at her son's apology.

"Mason- _honey_, no. It's-." She smiled crooked, hair released from its tight bun, and with eyes pressed on compassion. A hand was placed on his knee, and though able to feel the radiating heat of her palm on his flesh, Dipper didn't feel so violated by it.

He didn't feel so dirty.

"That- _guy. _He was a-." She rolled her hand through the air for inspiration. "He was a _mistake. _Letting you kids around someone like that-. That was-. God. Darling, that was a _mess, _wasn't it?"

Dipper shrugged, not meeting her gaze.

"I should have never known him." Miriam assured. Everyone seemed to nod their heads at that. "I'm sorry I knew him."

Again, he shrugged.

"_Shit happens_."

Bill snorted at the human's indifferent tone, still scraped from yelling his longues out. He was a funny one. Funny, and a bit pathetic, but what human wasn't? This one was at least entertaining when he was. Without thinking, he placed a confident kiss to the side of Dipper's face, followed by a ruffle of the hair.

"Adda-boy, babe." He chuckled despite the serious atmosphere, nudging the brunette's shoulder. Dipper smiled back, weak as it was.

"They're gonna catch him." Mabel mumbled in reassurance, despite the dread on her tongue. "Mom gave his licence plate."

"_John'll ditch the car._" Dipper replied.

"He'll be on foot, then."

"_There are plenty of bus stops for him around."_

"They can't take him far."

"_They'll take him far enough."_

"Someone's _bound _to recognise him."

"_Not if it's local news."_

"Don't _say _that, man; C'me on!" Mabel threw up her arms in sudden distress, eyes painted with something like betrayal. Not, of course. Though, it worried her, this monotone reply. This indifferent glance. Dipper was a cop, after all. He understood the movements of criminals; he was familiar with the system.

He talked like there was no way of really _finding _him.

"_It doesn't matter anymore, Mabel. He's gone."_ And, the nod his head gave; the way his back eased into the couch, eyes closed, shoulder brushing into Bill's chest.

That was not the voice of someone who'd given up.

That was someone who'd overcome.

That was someone who'd started healing.

"Well, _yeah_. But-." She began, despite her brother's words. Despite his demeanor, mature and broken. It all felt so small, fighting what he felt was alright in this situation. What good would finding John bring? What kind of satisfaction did it give her brother here, drained of his old self, and wanting nothing more than to finally- _finally- _start a new chapter in life?

Mabel uncurled herself, sitting now with a pout on her face.

"Still…" She sighed, saying no more.

"Someday." Daniel piped in affectionately. Solemn in his features, though warm at the cheeks. He looked over Dipper like some newly found element. "_Karma_, and all that." Not that a man like him believed in karma. Not that a man like him believed his own reassurance. His son was smart; he knew how criminals circulated, and how the trail could be hot one minute, cold the next. And what was a guy like John wanted for, anyway? Some dinner party scuffle? No. Pointless.

He'd just get away.

"You really think so?" Mabel asked. Daniel smiled, nodding.

"'Course. He's as good as caught." The man reassured with a wink. His daughter lightened at the tone, even against her own developed reality. No, no. She knew as well as everyone else in the room. John was gone.

"_Welp_." Bill chirped after a moment of silence. He lifted his arms, stretching as best he could in the tightly suited coat of his jacket; Dipper wiggled into the space. "Tonight's been fun, but I think we should be going."

"_Going_?" Miriam asked, slightly aghast. She readjusted herself in her seat, so her elbows rested heavily on its arm. "What do you mean?"

The question was really meant for _Dipper, _by the way she'd tossed her voice. And the slightly abandoned expression across her lips. And her need to explain- plain and simple- that she'd spent nearly an hour getting the guest room set up.

Bill spoke on her son's behalf.

"Something tells me we've overstayed our welcome." Bill tilted one knee out, feeling constricted at the hips after a dinner brawl in tailored cotton. He lifted his hand across Dipper's shoulder, whipping it carelessly through the air when he spoke. "Might be best to get away from it all for now."

Miriam's first instinct was to argue it, of course. Why, it was a _ten hour_ drive. It had rained. The police might come back for more questioning. Dipper was probably still in shock, by the looks of it. He needed his family around, now. He _needed _this.

But, Bill was an intelligent, well-spoken young man by her own standard. When he expressed the need to leave, even her want for mending in the moment died along the tongue. For all else who saw, it seemed as though Miriam trusted him with her son's well-being more than she did herself; it wasn't such a stretch to believe.

'_To get away from it all.'_

What a terribly bland way of saying to cut ties. That Dipper's childhood home held a bit too much. That the walls still looked of John, and the couch still held his form, and the carpets were sunken in from where he'd once stood. There was an element to the aggressor here that had been carved into California; that reminded him of his presence. And it wasn't completely sane of anyone to expect Dipper to stand from where he was currently seated, with the same eyes he'd had as a child.

What he saw now was a newly rendered house. Rendered, but still not as he remembered it before. The sensation of distance wasn't so much a looming feeling, as it was a reality. He didn't belong to this place anymore, and the stinging need he'd held to still be a part of it hadn't been because he was _supposed _to be; it was simply himself, stirring in anguish at how many years had been stripped from him, in this home he lost as a teen. This home he was supposed to grow up in.

But, John had been right, then. This wasn't his home anymore. He couldn't imagine himself in this place the same.

"Will you come visit soon?" Miriam still asked. And, obviously Dipper nodded to it. And, obviously he reached for his mother's hand. And, obviously the vulgar trip of skin touching skin began to slide from his person, as all else relieved its weight from him.

"I'll get your coat, then." Daniel replied from across the room, with his eyes misted; he wasn't over this new information; over what he'd learned tonight, or his inability to foresee it. He grabbed Dipper's bomber jacket from the hallway closet, and imagined it to be the cuffs of John's shirt. His fingers dug into the fabric, and that man was still with them, having failed escape.

He sucked in a breath then, handing the coat to his son, and willed his fingers to release themselves. Allowed the strain to melt away, and his knuckles to ease. A bit more time. A bit longer, and he would be alright. The crease in his brow where he'd wrinkled his forehead to bits was already beginning to smooth. Daniel would be fine after this. In time.

Everyone would be fine.

When they stood from the couch- Dipper under Bill's arm, uncharacteristically clingy, cat-like with a purr- so did Miriam from her chair, and Mabel from the floor. A quiet walk from the living room to the door, aside from William, who thought now was the perfect time to hum whatever had jingled its way into his mind.

"Thanks again for having us; your string bean casserole was-." Bill kissed his fingers with a '_muah.' _"-fantastic."

Miriam grinned with her hostess cheeks, dusting a splatter from her apron, which she still hadn't removed.

"I'll make sure to write down the recipe for you, next time you're here." An invitation; a plea for this man to come down when he could, everyday if necessary, and drag her hesitant son by the neck of his shirt along if he had to. By the looks of it here, they were attached at the waist.

"Definitely!" Was the man's reply. That seemed to ease the woman. For the time being, at least. She gave her son a hesitant look, but an encouraged one. Stepping away from the door, Miriam watched the too exit the house into humid night winds. There were still the onlooking neighbors of her little street who seated themselves on their porches, free associating what looked to be tire marks on her lawn, and one less car in the driveway.

"I'll…" Dipper tilted his head back to address the woman, his voice a shade unsure; a shade smooth. "I'll see you Thanksgiving."

"And call." Miriam replied curtly. He nodded his head.

"And call."

"Preferably after eight." She added. He nodded again.

"I know. I know. And before six." Dipper supplied, to which the woman beamed.

"If you don't mind."

"I don't."

They looked at each other a beat, not saying a thing. Mabel was a ways behind Daniel, who'd once again propped himself against the doorframe, with Miriam up front, feet planted squarely on the mat like some kind of gatekeeper.

A moment passed, and her features paled softly.

"You can call later if you need to." The smile she gave looked more along the lines of losing balance. Her hands, as they often did out of nervous habit, began to ring out a patch of her apron when she spoke. Perhaps not wanting to say it, but needing to.

And Dipper looked at her like she'd said something incredible.

He turned away, ahead of him, then back at her, as though she might have been addressing someone else.

"-Okay." The boy tripped over his own agreeance. "I'll call when we get back."

"Do that." Miriam encouraged, stepping away from the entrance, returning inside.

Daniel gave Dipper something of a glance; a gift, more so, by the way his expression answered the question of Miriam's demeanor.

'_She's learning,_' his face said. He too turned away, retreating inside.

Which left only Mabel.

Not crying from the news, as one might expect. Instead, with furrowed brows and a tight upper lip; a drive to do better, wherever she'd failed him before. Though Dipper and Bill were already down the patio steps, some ways up the lawn headed for his car, there wasn't so much as a hiccup in her motions when her legs were suddenly flexing below her; feet tapping along each step, carrying her the short distance, so she could wrap either arm around Dipper's back from behind, burying her nose between his shoulder blades.

Dipper jumped, but didn't shrivel. Instead, easing into the touch once it became apparent who'd captured him here. He allowed his hands to squeeze the elbows which locked his body against hers, turning slightly to get a glimpse of the top of her head.

"They're gonna catch him." Mabel mumbled into the fabric of his back, tightening her grip. She nuzzled her nose farther in. "They're _gonna _catch him." Dipper wasn't sure how to reply. His simple instincts weren't much to go off of, but they assured him she wasn't asking for one. He willed two extra squeezes from his hands to her arms.

In any other situation, they would have hugged awkwardly. Or, sincerely. In this case, it might have been something completely different from the two. A hybrid, or a bittersweet nothing. But, Bill's arm was still around Dipper's shoulder, and he wasn't so sure he felt like breaking from it just yet. Here, their relationship was different. And, in no way was that a problem.

A kind of separation molded in the space that had once been filled by Mabel's seasonal lovers, now chalked in by a significant other of Dipper's. The separation was sweet though, and it only existed to differentiate them as adults. Where the divide laid was not a scarr of their relationship, but a hole present when they'd finally uprooted the toxicity. Something immature and unforgiving.

Mabel pulled him in closer, laughing into his shoulder.

"You owe me _so much _boy talk." When she pulled away, smiling with damp cheeks, her eyes shone forgiveness. Time, but forgiveness.

"Please don't." Dipper laughed back.

"I'm already scheduling it in for twin-time." Mabel shot with a wink. She rubbed her nose, dispelling it of drippage. "Oh my god, I don't even know who your celebrity crush is."

"Me, of course." Bill purred. She let out another laugh, despite her sudden need to snivel.

"Oh, yeah. Yeah, that's right." A hiccup in her voice, but a smile on her face. She stepped away from the two, giving her brother a chummy knock on the shoulder. "Nice score, by the way."

Her grin was as genuine as it was selfless. A flash of who she'd once been- young, balanced, and childish- before she too was turning away with a wave of her hand, calling with a turn '_See you at home!'_

She shut the door behind her, and the very first thing Dipper did was kiss the man with an arm around his shoulder.

And, kiss down the pavement walk.

And, kiss while they unlocked the door.

Kiss when they got in the car, and while Dipper was putting the key in the ignition.

Because, in all this time they'd been together, he hadn't felt a presence that solely belonged to that one person by his side; it hadn't existed, to kiss, or make love, or hold, and need the one. Up until this point, it had been a package deal of baggage, and a little bit of John was sprinkled against every pair of lips. Those arms had smelled like citrus, and his skin was cut with needles.

Here, though.

Here, they were alone.

Really, really alone.

When Dipper wrapped his arms around the blond's head and forced him to follow in the driver's seat, there wasn't a single person stopping them.

"_Happy_?" Bill asked between soft lips. The one below him laughed.

"Kiss me again." He did, and his fingers allowed themselves to weave through blond, and his legs wrapped around his torso, and there didn't seem to be a way for them to feel too close. When Bill's hand trailed his stomach, there wasn't such a thing as 'too close.'

"Notice how you're always so nice to me after our little adventures?" Bill pulled away, angling his head to lay a soft kiss on Dipper's bottom lip. Only a second, before the smaller was bending his head forward in a rush, avid about getting full lip contact; he hadn't known how numb it'd all felt before this.

"I like a knight in shining armor." He joked with a snort, cupping Bill's warm cheek. He was smiling so hard now, it was a wonder his lips still felt plush against the other's. "I like you."

"You _what?_" It caught Angle off guard, not that he'd ever show how much. Outside, it had just been a slight infraction; like stepping on something he didn't know was there. Passing, not really all important, but something he acknowledged. Inside though, those words had burned, and they burned in a way he'd never felt before. It was soft and craving; like the very curve of Dipper's hips.

And, holy hell.

Was that the worst feeling in the world.

Because-.

Oh, _fuck_.

His _heart _twitched, instead of what sat between his legs.

Not good. Not good.

He kissed the smaller again, hoping to shut up whatever other nonsense he felt like dragging him in with.

That-. That had felt too human.

"No, I-." Dipper began after a shake of the head. Something about the hesitant want in his eyes said otherwise. Still, he shook his head. "I'm just kidding. I'm kidding. That was a lie." He pulled from those lips, giving the sharp ridge of Bill's cheek a smooch. Then another. Another and another, until he found himself helplessly drawing his tongue up the side of his face. Like a joke, but definitely not. "I'm talking crazy. Ignore me."

Bill gladly did.

When he pulled Dipper up from his pressed space against the driver's seat, into his lap, it was as perfect as it was forgettable. And his partner was already undoing the first three buttons of his shirt, like he didn't mind doing it in the car, in his old hometown. He didn't. He really, really didn't.

Because Bill was great.

Bill was so, so great here for what he'd done today.

When Dipper was cornered on the table, he was there.

When he'd needed Bill for this- for _all _this mess- he was right by his side.

He wanted to thank him for that; to apologise for every instance he'd refused to be obediant. Dipper pulled from those lips, coming in only to breath against Bill's ear.

"_What do you want from me?_" His chest heaved, skin damp, suddenly shivering at the bare rhythm of his partner's heartbeat. "_Just say it, and it's yours."_ Dipper's other hand was against his neck, pressing circles where strands of blond sprouted. When Bill looked at him- perhaps not believing it himself- there wasn't a doubt of the lengths he meant to go for his thanks.

"What's got _you _so sweet?" He chuckled, lifting his hand to press a hard thumb against the brunette's cheek; Dipper's mouth came rolling open in response, whether or not it was really being asked of him, as he snaked his tongue to lick a line up the arch of Bill's palm.

He was being _very _sweet tonight.

"_I missed you."_ Dipper got closer, riding his fingers up and down the back of Bill's neck like some sacred treasure. It made him laugh, tug him in for a kiss under the jaw, and pull back.

"Oh, yeah? What'd you _miss _about me?" Which had only been a joke, really. He'd only meant to tease his partner with it, because surely he meant something along the lines of '_Just being with you' _or '_Talking, like we always do.'_ What he hadn't expected was for Dipper to raise a brow the way that he did, and with a subtle wag of his hips, like a dog. Fuck, like a _dog. _He pulled Bill back in.

"_Your __fat__ cock_."

It took Bill exactly eight seconds for his brain to boot back up.

"..._Wow__."_ Seemed like an appropriate comment, and it had to have been, because Dipper only became more excited by the statement. He actively worked to undo the bottom two buttons of Bill's shirt, although there were still about three in the middle. It didn't matter at the time; Dipper got a good feel of his chest, as well as a swipe at his waist. He was good. He was so, so good.

"_Just say it, Bill. Just tell me what to do."_ Whoever was sitting in Angle's lap- because no way in _hell _this could really be Dipper- began to suck on his neck like hard candy. That seemed to snap his partner out of it, who before this was honestly shocked out of his mind. Hell, though. His partner was acting slutty, no shame in it. Bill definitely didn't feel like missing out on it. "_I need you to control me."_

There was no way of him ever recovering from this.

Either of them.

This was a _jump _in their relationship, because whether or not Dipper would ever admit it, he'd unintentionally _communicated _with his partner. Which was supposed to be _intimate. _A lot more intimate that just fuck-buddies.

He was undressed when it came to defenses.

Bill ate it up.

Was it really _so _wrong to love how vulnerable Dipper had made himself?

Was it really such a problem that he'd offered this?

Nah, not at all. Bill took either of his arms under Dipper's legs, and outright _flipped _him into the driver's seat. The brunette shook his head from the sudden swirl of his brain.

"You drive; there's a Hotel 7 somewhere on Oakland."

[...]

Give it maybe a week; John had found himself out of bus money, stranded in New Mexico.

Holding it up in a shitty two-star motel someplace bordering condemned. When he turned the faucets, the water ran a washed out brown. His sheets pricked him in ways that had been confusing upon the first night of his stay, before eventually realizing the place was infested with chinches. He'd ripped the sheets off then in a fit of distress, and rightfully slept with a wine stained V-neck for warmth.

By the third day, he'd lost his citrus aroma, and instead started to stench of crusted linen and morning breath. There wasn't a razor to be found for his five o'clock shadow, nor a comb for his splitting hair. John worried himself raw, every so often peeking out his motel window, certain the feds were onto him. He spent hours doing nothing but pulling and working at his hair, raged by stress and anxiety, until sometime that night when he took a look in the mirror and found he'd removed several patches of thick black hair.

He screamed.

By the fourth day, he was a hermit. Chinche-infested blanket cast over the bald spots of his head, eyes glazed over from the unretainable time used to keep watch on the streets below. A cop car drove by, and he dove for his mattress. A knock at his motel door, and he cussed at the cleaning maids to leave him alone; part of the reason it smelled so putrid by the sixth day.

By the seventh day- his current situation- John was at his wit's end. He was unemployed now, of course. There'd only been the money he enjoyed flashing in front of co-workers in his pockets when he high-tailed it that night. No credit card, which may have been a good thing in the end. They could track him, maybe. With satellites and stuff.

John honestly didn't know the facts, but he couldn't bear thinking things could've been better if he just had a little more money.

Another knock at the door; the motelier, with his cheap 15 dollar suit, and his gut sticking out through the elastic of his pants. They'd gotten complaints from his neighbors on the smell. Not to mention the obsessive window-peering; one woman in particular said he'd been eyeing her up from his bedroom. Word spread through the maid staff that he was a lousy tipper; they'd caught wind John was short on cash.

When confronted, the man tried turning on his charm for the motelier. He lifted an elbow to press cunningly against his door frame, and his dripping B.O. assaulted the poor old man. When he cracked a smile, his teeth were yellow and placked with sodium from six packs of shrimp ramen. On top of that, he hadn't eaten a proper meal in days. "Proper" meaning balanced, as he'd certainly gotten his fill of calories in that span of time. Noodles and half-off cookies and chips and fifty cent sodas; his skin was oily, and his gut had popped.

The motelier said he had until this evening to move out.

An hour before his eviction, John cracked in two. Howling and raging and wripping the copy-and-paste renaissance painting from his wall. Cussing out Miriam, who was a stiff, unapologetic clean freak. Cussing out Daniel, her goody two-shoes ex who felt like acting the hero just to win her back. Cussing out Mabel, who he'd treated like his own, but hadn't been given the same affection. Cussing out _Dipper, _obviously, who was nothing but a no-good cock-sucking cum-slut, acting innocent for the cameras.

He knocked the lamp from his bedside, the TV from its stand, ripped out all the empty drawers, and smashed the motel mirror; what were they gonna do? _Charge him? _He was already flat broke. John continued his rampage, going so far as to turn his rage onto his own possessions. Ripped his wallet right in two. Took either of his muddied Comfort Craftsman Boots, and slammed them against the wall. He took the only pair of jeans he owned, and started _tearing _off belt loops.

Which is when he gave pause.

Noted the white business card peeking from his pocket.

If he even wanted to _talk._

If he even wanted to _talk._

Hell yeah, he wanted to talk. In fact, he had a few choice-words for the guy. That William-whatever. He had a whole _lot _he felt like getting off his chest.

Without thinking, or really considering the consequences, John fished his phone out. Almost dead by now, considering he hadn't snagged his charger in the chaos. It was fine though. There were plenty of bars.

The numbers were neat and printed for him, so he wouldn't have the opportunity to stop his obsessive typing to peer at the numbers- decipher a one from a seven- and realize it probably wasn't a good idea to call this man.

But, he did.

And the other end rang. And rang. And rang, before picking up on the forth.

And when John listened to the other end, and called out to Bill for being such an asshole, and started screaming at him to come face him, or pick him up damn it, or be a man and admit the stupid bitch had it coming, there wasn't so much as a sound on the separate line.

Simply the numbing buzz of static; the grip of loneliness.

John pressed his ear close after his little episode, still huffing and sweaty from what was left of his anger. He checked the intact clock on the floor; a few more minutes, and they'd be up there to escort him out.

The entire experience had been pointless. Bill had probably given him a faulty number as some kind of practical joke. Maybe he had stuff like that; fake business cards for people he planned on fucking over later.

John began to pull the phone from his face, when a tiny mumble caught his attention.

"_Hello_?" His rugged, cracked voice called out to the receiver.

There was a low grumble from the other end; some hardened, dark force of vocals that sent an odd chill down his spine, waging at his tailbone before riding back up to his shoulders. He swallowed thickly, trying again.

"_HELLO?_" John called out again. Not loud, but aggressive. No answer; he readied his thumb against the phone's power button.

Which is exactly when it happened.

A final, numb static, unlike anything he'd ever heard. The trade of volume for soul, when this odd sound hit an octave unlike any other, and the vibration was felt along every cell of John's person. His skin was electric, hairs standing on end when it felt as though his own phone had attached itself and imported its being into him. His eyes bulged, nostrils flaring in sudden convulsion, with limbs refusing to ease.

And slowly, very slowly, John's skin faded in color. Starting at the base of his feet, rising to the crown of his head. A literal sweep of color, leaving behind white flesh. Not pale. _White. _As though suctioning the pigment from his very being, the catalyst his phone in hand. A sort of mist arose around the edges of flesh and their dying light, which was promptly sucked in by the phone's screen.

John let out a cracked gasp, but nothing more. Head thrown back, eyes rolled, the skin of his cheeks ripping in two as his jaw flexed to greet his adams apple. His hair, thick and full, fell out. What had once been no more than a crease of the forehead became full-blown wrinkles. And his tone, shock as it was, sounded older and older and older as it went on.

By the time his phone had sucked him dry, John was no more than a pile of ash.

[...]

Bill's phone dinged; a text.

One unopened inbox, from an unknown caller.

He smirked.


End file.
